Answer:
Of no use to one, Bliss to two. Men lie for it. The baby’s right,
When it comes in, From sea to shore, Twenty paces you'll see, No less, no more.
Take one out and scratch my head, I am now black but once was red.
I have many feathers to help me fly. I have a body and head, but I'm not alive. It is your strength which determines how far I go. You can hold me in your hand, but I'm never thrown.
At first I am a yellow weed in the lawn, and then the wind blows, and my white feathers are gone. What am I?
If lightning strikes an orchestra who is the one most likely to get hit?