Answer:
They're up near the sky, on something very tall. Sometimes they die, only then do they fall.
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.
My teeth are sharp, my back is straight, to cut things up it is my fate.
Power enough to smash ships and crush roofs. Yet it still must fear the sun.
I can move even when you are still. I can be one or many.
This food is a tortilla filled with cheese and sometimes chicken before being heated or cooked.