Answer:
Take one out and scratch my head, I am now black but once was red.
In your fire you hear me scream, creaking and whining, yet I am dead before you lay me in your hearth.
Of no use to one, Bliss to two. Men lie for it. The baby’s right,
What is the thing which, once poured out, cannot be gathered again?
What kind of room has no windows or doors?
You use it between your head and your toes, the more it works the thinner it grows.