Answer:
I have four wings but cannot fly. I never laugh and never cry. On the same spot always found, toiling away with little sound.
Put into a pit, locked beneath a grate, guarded through the night, yet it still goes out.
This is in a realm of true and in a realm false, but you experience me as you turn and toss.
I'm tall in the morning and short in the noon. I disappear at night but I will be back soon.
What is never used unless it's in a tight place?
If lightning strikes an orchestra who is the one most likely to get hit?