Many songs from the distant past I have preserved in my wondrous catalog. I take the impossible and make it possible, transforming wax into sound. The voices of people long dead have been preserved by me, waiting for the world to see once more.

I have been alluded to all throughout the eons and the tomes of the past. The people of the planet have called me many things, a sign of a god, or destruction, or both. However, I simply flash by, resigned to my fate as I dissolve.

Modern children get hooked on my use, Some forms of me are swallowable and prone to abuse, A paper of stone, words chiselled in All share this word - let the guessing begin!

I am used to see, but not many use me anymore. In one eye and not the other, I'm tied to the Mandela effect..oh brother

Behold my size, I’m considered a God! A fatal taste of me and you may not grow old. I may be a gigantic blazing clod, or I may help in measures of the cold.