Answer:
Walk on the living, they donβt even mumble. Walk on the dead, they mutter and grumble
Beautiful girls strut and sexy men 'do their little turn' on this.
A thousand colored folds stretch toward the sky. Atop a tender strand, rising from the land, until killed by maiden's hand. Perhaps a token of love, perhaps to say goodbye.
When young, I am sweet in the sun. When middle-aged, I make you gay. When old, I am valued more than ever.
Dies half its life. Lives the rest. Dances without music. Breathes without breath.
They are many and one, they wave and they drum, Used to cover a state, they go with you everywhere.