Answer:
What covers its face with its hands, speaks no language, yet most known what it's saying?
What is given but kept by the giver?
Do you know what you can hold without ever touching it?
A dagger thrust at my own heart, dictates the way I'm swayed. Left I stand, and right I yield, to the twisting of the blade.
Walk on the living, they donโt even mumble, Walk on the dead, they mutter and grumble. What are they?
My first is snapping, snarling, growling, My second's industrious, romping, and prowling. Higgledy piggledy Here we lie, picked and plucked, and put in a pie.