We all dream, that the world would build us a statue.
We all dream, that where a hand of flesh and bone has once - maybe - pushed down on us, there would be a hand of stone, rising up, pointing at the horizon. We all dream, that where our will has cracked - maybe - under the pressure, there would be a breastplate of steal, impervious to rain, or snow. We all dream, that where the answers eluded us - maybe - sometimes, everyone will know the answer to the question:
"Who is that?"
"It is Him, the Great!"
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