Answer:
What kinds of men are always above board?
Although my cow is dead, I still beat herΒ What a racket she makes.
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.
Whoever makes it, tells it not. Whoever takes it, knows it not. Whoever knows it, wants it not
What kind of nut is empty at the center and has no shell.
You use it between your head and your toes, the more it works the thinner it grows.