Answer:
A thousand colored folds stretch toward the sky. Atop a tender strand, rising from the land, until killed by maiden's hand. Perhaps a token of love, perhaps to say goodbye.
I march before armies, a thousand salute me. My fall can bring victory, but no one would shoot me. The wind is my lover, one-legged am I. Name me and see me at home in the sky.
Looks like water, but it's heat. Sits on sand, lays on concrete. A play on the eyes, but it's all lies.
Blend a teapot shot so the pearlies won’t rot!
Who works when he plays and plays when he works?
Within, I clean all that is bad and is old. I make juice that’s the color of gold. Should I die, a filter machine would you need assembled to replace me and beans I resemble.