"I confess my boy I would only refuse you this one thing. It is right to dissuade you. What you want is unsafe. Phaethon you ask too great a favour, and one that is unfitting for your strength and boyish years. Your fate is mortal: it is not mortal what you ask."
Ovid - Metamorphoses (Hellios trying to persuade his son not to ask for the permission to ride his Chariot)
You should’ve not My Father Listened to my begging, moaning Now, true meaning of the plot I finally gather While in the Hell I’m drowning Here’s what to say I’ve got
I invoked your promise unwisely And made You let me ride Your Chariot of The Sun It’s me to say precisely That’s caused by my own pride That’s why I’m deadly done.
I though those shiny reins Of the Chariot of Fire Are no more but a tool That riding up The Sun Throughout heavenly lanes As every human desire It’s easy enough for a fool
How foolish - I don’t recall A single of your warnings I know there must’ve been some About the hefty toll So then one of the mornings Riding The Sun – I come
Easy at first the job it seems When the desires start burning And at this time – exhilaration Glory and fame in full light beams Then story takes different turning Comes slight exasperation
And rises into full panic bloom With sheer realisation That the control is just illusory The feeling of impending doom All your attempts on re-orientation Fails and you’re full of worry
And with your hesitation The Four Golden Mares Turn into Horsemen of Apocalypse Once – you’re at the highest elation Then down steeply chariot fares Far from a steady ellipse
Up – shouts the African Tribes When I burn the Sahara sands Next, I freeze the Atlantic Ocean I need somebody that guides Shows how’s trajectory stands How urge is kept in proportion.
But I’m alone in that quest In wresting all instincts mash, In truly hopeless bet Cannot for a second rest Knowing I’m heading to crash If reins free I would let
And that’s how I perished That’s what brought my demise And that’s the lesson for crowd Hot rays of Sun are cherished But it seems the only wise Not to be so proud
And not to indulge in vanity Thinking you can ride on desires Considering you as a god At stake is not just your sanity But you’re sure to starts fires Which burn you – you silly sod.
