I can be a great work Or a child's view of cheese. A gentle starry night, Or clocks melting on trees. I'm hung for all to see, Bringing some to their knees.

Medieval armor, ominous e-mails, multi-branch businesses, necklaces. What do they have in common?

Shiny accolades that gather dust, symbols of past glories, they stand like silent guardians of your victories.

What rock group has four men who don't sing?

I am a record of the present that becomes a relic by dusk. I possess many columns but support no roof. I am covered in ink, yet I have never written a word of my own. I offer you the world in folded sheets, and you use me to set that world on fire?