Officially illustrated for the following Neil Gaiman poem:
Sometimes I think it’s like I live in a big giant head on a hilltop made of papier mache, a big giant head of my own head. I polish the eyes which would be windows, or mow the lawn, I mean this is my house we’re talking about here even if it is a big giant papier mache head that looks just like mine. And people who go past in cars or buses or see the house the head on the hill from trains they think the house is me. I’ll be sleeping there, or polishing the eyes, or weeding the lawn, but no-one will see me, no-one would look. And no-one would ever come. And if I waved no-one even knows it was me waving. They’d all be looking in the wrong place, at the head on the hill.