Answer:
One by one we fall from heaven down into the depths of past, And our world is ever upturned so that yet some time weβll last.
What gets closer when you blink?
Though I wander the earth, I am no longer here. I am pale and I chill everyone near. Who am I?
My voice is tender, my waist is slender and I'm often invited to play. Yet wherever I go, I must take my bow or else I have nothing to say.
Reaching stiffly for the sky, I bare my fingers when its cold. In warmth I wear an emerald glove and in between I dress in gold.
Within, I clean all that is bad and is old. I make juice thatβs the color of gold. Should I die, a filter machine would you need assembled to replace me and beans I resemble.