Answer:
I turn everything around, but I cannot move. When you see me, you see you! What am I?
I am carried by mad animals.
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.
It rows quickly with four oars but never comes out from under its own roof. What is it?
I am a shimmering field that reaches far. Yet I have no tracks and am crossed without paths.
It flows out of the soil, It burns you if it boils, And holds us in its coils, More valuable than gold, As black as it is old.