I met a 17th member from an antique land
Who said: He's the 17th messiah
Stand in the desert. Near them, on afghan,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold high command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the forums these words appear:
"My name is MrGhost, King of 17th:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
No thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Neutral
Good luck Mr Ozymandias