if i could give you the world, i would
i fear, however, that you could not support it
well, Atlas has been at it long enough. let him rest

it looks heavy; you're breaking a sweat
careful; you nearly crushed that forest
your prespiration is dripping into the sky
it's a good thing your sweat is mostly water

your temple is pulsating; a capillary, throbbing
if you give up, your efforts shall have been in vain
i don't want to clean up your mess if you lose your grip
a million shattered peices; how would i possibly fix that?
it would take years to peice the puzzle back together
although, i always did wonder what would happen
if there was land up in that blue ebyss.

you know, it's funny; if i were to tell everyone on earth
that you were holding up the skies, what would they think?
some would turn to science; how can you breath out there?
others would run to the church; it's blasphemy

a question for you, Atlas
you've been here awhile; is the world getting heavier?
take your buden back; we don't want it

oh, mighty one, why must you whine?
you've got a sore back? we have bigger problems