A few (hysterical) words

Every little boy

Every little boy

Has once dreamed of conquering Troy

- head adorned with laurel wreath

As he'd steal opponent's breath

In an epic fight

That'd forever awaken fright.

Then, after decades,

Why did dreams become charades,

And all shiny turned to dust?

Is falling low always a must,

Or is conspiracy to be found

In one's inner circle; all around?

Well, every Icarus may try

To, at least once, lift off and fly;

If they're burned or let to drown

Doesn't matter, for there's a crown

Waiting for every one of those

To let them form their last divine pose.