There's a obelisk made of men, in a dark place.
There's a man at each corner of it's foot.
I am one of them, bearing the weight of many souls above me.
Every day I watch more climb the building to find their place in the wall.
I dutifully hold my place, though the weight becomes more crushing with each new brick.
I fear to leave the obelisk.
It is my home, my society.
I tell myself to hold my place and hold my breath.
Breathing only accentuates the pain.
If I leave, the obelisk will fall.
At least, that's what I am told to believe.
I can't risk it, even though I loath the weight.
If I leave, the tower will fall in my direction.
I see a light in the dark, between all the souls climbing and clambering to take their place.
There's an obelisk of stone, white stone.
It's a light place not far from here.
To hell with the walls.
To hell with this dark place.
If the wall comes crashing down on me as I run.
So be it, it has to be better than bearing all the weight.