A half-baked project of the glass you look through, Accessory of the richest who are decked. If you think it's in Monopoly, you'd just be a fool, A victim of most famous Mandela Effect.

I carry kings yet wear no crown. I race the wind but own no ground. In battle I thunder, in fields I roam. With iron on feet, the road is my home. What am I?

The base is my wingman. I didn’t get electrified until the nineteen thirties. Typically six strings that are strummed or plucked. What a fender bender, a famous maker didn’t even learn to play me.

I'm sought by all, or at least most that don't know better, I represent power, but in a way I'm a scarlet letter, Obviously a positive one, but the isolation feels the same, you'd agree, According to Shakespeare, heavy is the head that wears me

Ancient things congregate here, For your viewing pleasure they do appear. Whether it an exhibition of a bygone time, Or the heritae of a long lost family line, Here great pleasure is found, In remembering what may lie in the ground.