Answer:
I fly through the air on small feathered wings, seeking out life and destroying all things.
Covered in stone and sun. It's home to many but also none. What is it?
Mountains will crumble and temples will fall. And no man can survive its endless call.
Round as an apple, deep as a cup, and all the kings' horses can't fill it up. What is it?
I am the tool, for inspiring many. Buy me in the store, for not much more than a penny. Don't overuse me, or my usefulness will go.
What do angels sing in the shower?