Answer:
I go through a door but never go in, and never come out. What am I?
I plow and plow but never sow.
With pointed fangs I sit and wait; with piercing force I crunch out fate; grabbing victims, proclaiming might; physically joining with a single bite. What am I?
I can run but not walk. Wherever I go thought follows close behind.
Package beneath a tree, inside a tasty treat. Keep it for a month, the taste is just as sweet. What am I?
I flow from the Homerβs mouth when he sees doughnuts.