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Aleksandr Gorodnitsky; listen [here]

When your heart grows heavy, and your chest feels cold inside
Come stand before the [Hermitage] as twilight turns to night
Where without bread or water, forgotten and alone
The Atlases hold up the sky on hands of weathered stone

To bear its heavy burden does not look an easy task
Their backs are straining, muscles taut, [their faces bear pain's mask]
Their work is more important, though, than any other toil
For if anyone should weaken, the sky will surely fall.

Widows in darkness cry out as all the fields burn
O'ershadowed by the mushroom cloud that [means] the end for Earth
Meanwhile the sky with every year gets heavier to bear
It rattles from the noise of rockets in the air

They stand there, fine handsome lads carved out of stone's grain
Placed there on duty, long ago; and no replacements came
The daylight now seems dull to them, they cannot sleep at night
Their features marred and cracked by [straying shells of wars]

They stand there through the ages, [in the thick of it]
Not gods, but merely humans, [ones used to hard work]
[Our hope can still be alive for as long as]
The Atlases hold up the sky on hands of weathered stone

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