Answer:
You use a knife to slice my head. And weep beside me when I am dead.
My prefix is food. My suffix is rude. My infix comes in rounds. I keep you off the ground. What Am I?
What asks but never answers?
A mile from end to end, yet as close to as a friend. A precious commodity, freely given. Seen on the dead and on the living. Found on the rich, poor, short and tall, but shared among children most of all.
It regulates our daily movements, but it feels no interest in our lives. It directs us when to come and go, but does not care if we pay attention. What is it?
What is always coming but never arrives?