Atlas

Even when he was a young gun,
They told him to watch himself,
"Don't be such a ponky-headed rascal,
"Don't you want to earn your castle?"
He turns and looks away.
From behind closed doors we see,
The rotten wealth–of a dying spirit breathe,
And take onto himself the weight of the world
and all its sympathy
When Atlas shrugged it back,
He left a rug under the dust,
And made a miracle of a tidal wall,
And it's all that's left,
And you can't put it back,
But can you see,
The position he was in?
To be a hologram in a martyrdom,
And the world still spins–
Without you begging please...
Begging please don't save me...
You're not saving anything.
Perched upon the building tops,
Hanging with the icicles,
All the world rides bicycles,
On their way downtown,
But our hero is so alone,
He finds himself–as a silent ancient poem,
And we can't hear his calls under the weight of the world
And all that it intones
When Atlas shrugged it back,
He left a rug under the dust,
And made a miracle of a sonic wall,
And it's all that's left,
And you can't put it back,
But can you see,
The position he was in?
To be a hologram in a martyrdom,
And the world still spins–
Without you begging please...
Begging please don't save me...
You're not saving anything.
Even when he was an old man,
They told him to watch himself,
"Don't be such a ponky-headed rascal,
Do you want to break your back?,
You'll surely die away."
But he doesn't listen up,
He wiles away–in the town where he grew up,
And we can hear him cry under the weight of the world,
And all that he respects,
When Atlas shrugged it back,
He left a rug under the dust,
And made a miracle of a sonic wall,
And it's all that's left,
And you can't put it back,
But can you see,
The position he was in?
To be a hologram in a martyrdom,
And the world still spins–
Without you begging please...
Begging "please don't save me...
You're not saving anything."
"No you're not saving anything,
And you're just hurting me,"
"You're not saving anything."