Answer:
Three little letters, a paradox to some. The worse that it is, the better it becomes.
This is in a realm of true and in a realm false, but you experience me as you turn and toss.
In the forest, this blends in just right, but every December it is covered with lights. What is it?
Although my cow is dead, I still beat her. What a racket she makes!
What is round as a dishpan, deep as a tub, and still the oceans couldn't fill it up?
Almost everyone needs it, asks for it, gives it. But almost nobody takes it.