Answer:
Who works when he plays and plays when he works?
What can answer in any language? What can speak without a mouth? What can sing without an ear?
Although my cow is dead, I still beat herΒ What a racket she makes.
A great mysterious place that the bold have been known to journey into.
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.
They are many and one, they wave and they drum, Used to cover a state, they go with you everywhere.