Answer:
I cannot be other than what I am, until the man who made me dies. Power and glory will fall to me, only when he last closes his eyes.
I cannot be felt seen or touched. Yet I can be found in everybody. My existence is always in debate. Yet I have my own style of music.
Send poorly behaved children to me and let them sit here. What am I?
I march before armies, a thousand salute me. My fall can bring victory, but no one would shoot me. What am I?
In my yard there's a bed with no pillows a trunk with no clothes a branch with no leaves. What am I looking at?
What language does a billboard speak?