Answer:
I cannot be felt, seen or touched. Yet I can be found in everybody. My existence is always in debate, yet I have my own style of music. What am I?
I am a king who’s good at measuring stuff. What am I?
First you see me in the grass dressed in yellow gay; next I am in dainty white, then I fly away. What am I?
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?
I am a kind of coat that can only be put on when wet. What am I?
It flows out of the soil, It burns you if it boils, And holds us in its coils, More valuable than gold, As black as it is old.