Answer:
Dies half its life. Lives the rest. Dances without music. Breathes without breath.
My prefix is food. My suffix is rude. My infix comes in rounds. I keep you off the ground. What Am I?
What has six faces and twenty-one eyes?
Gold in a leather bag, swinging on a tree, money after honey in its time. Ills of a scurvy crew cured by the sea, reason in its season but no rhyme.
Who is it that rows quickly with four oars, but never comes out from under his own roof?
What do angels sing in the shower?