beggar
a thimble in time Below the beggar sleeps the burning earth,
And below the brown dirt lie our rotting bones.

Above the ground, infinite monuments glorify mirth and madness;
moments of sublime perfection, ages of chaos and ashes; Times when fact and fiction bled into one.

Therefore, to the smartest of men I ask one thing:
Let Man keep his dreams;
Donít ever remove the impossible from his hands.
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