Answer:
I begin your sentences.
Poor people have it. Rich people need it. If you eat it you die. What is it?
I have a name written on me, but it isnβt my name. Men plant me, but I never grow. They look at me and see their future, rotting in my bloom.
At night I come without being fetched, and by day I am lost without being stolen. What am I?
I am a rock group that has 4 members, all of whom are dead, one of which was assassinated. What am I?
What never gets any wetter no matter how hard it rains?