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Man alone; born of stone; Will stamp the dust of time His hands strike the flame of his soul; Ties a rope to a tree and hangs the Universe Until the winds of laughter blows cold. Walls that no man thought would fall The altars of the just Crushed .... Dust .... in the wind ....
A mystical figure with flowing hair stands amidst clouds, wielding a glowing orb. Surrounding him are ethereal structures and swirling light, creating a surreal, dreamlike atmosphere.
