You get many of me, but never enough. After the last one, your life soon will snuff. You may have one of me but one day a year, When the last one is gone, your life disappears.
They have not flesh, nor feathers, nor scales, nor bone. Yet they have fingers and thumbs of their own. What are they?
You’ll have me at night and if you remove the first letter I denote the top, such as on a train