Atlas is fading away,
Leaving for Tartarus as he is forgotten.
"Hold my sky for me,"
He tells the people.
"Bear its weight with pride."

The people comply; they hold the sky.
But day by day, their own
Troubles are added
And the sky grows heavier.

"Enough of this!"
The people grumble.
"We must pass this weight on to the young
         ones,
So that we will not have to carry it anymore."

And the young ones are raised to work,
Taught to carry the sky,
Taught to throw their own
Troubles onto their backs.
And day by day,
The stars are blotted out,
Swapped for deathly darkness under the
Guise of a caring culture.

The elders are grumbling again.
"Why do you young ones carry the sky?
Why do you not put the weight down
To do something better?"
And the young ones sit,
Trapped beneath their elders' faults.

But what good are you doing?
The young ones think to themselves.
But what have you done to lessen your
        burden,
Our burden?
But the elders refuse to listen
As the young ones only hope to meet Hades,
Before they ever see Atlas again.