Answer:
What is the thing which, once poured out, cannot be gathered again?
The moon is my father. The sea is my mother. I have a million brothers. I die when I reach land
Three little letters, a paradox to some. The worse that it is, the better it becomes.
According to the music industry, you can count on a midnight train and the devil to turn up here.
What month of the year has 28 days?
What is so fragile that saying its name breaks it?