Answer:
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?
Wind and cord combine, buzzing in the box. In all this we find, though to some the use is lost. What am I?
Better touch me before you proceed to second.
I am a king who’s good at measuring stuff. What am I?
The more there is the less you see.
What do you purposefully put lots of in and on your body, but run away from when you encounter it outside?