Answer:
Thirty white horses on a red hill, first they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still.
Who makes it, has no need of it. Who buys it, has no use for it. Who uses it can neither see nor feel it. What is it?
What gets wetter as it dries?
What surrounds the world, yet dwells within a thimble?
I am the fountain from which no one can drink. For many I am considered a necessary link. Like gold to all I am sought for, but my continued death brings wealth for all to want more.
You use it between your head and your toes, the more it works the thinner it grows.