Once done in dark caves, I now hang in halls of gold. I tell stories in pigment that never grow old. What am I, this beauty for the world to behold?

I’m tall and green and smell so fine, At Christmas time you make me shine. With needles sharp instead of leaves, What kind of tree am I, do you believe?

The sleeve that shrouds the hoard, Preferred to be ignored. A mist of sting or essence spent, I'm put out to pasture when my armor relents.

A short, hard, black, rubber cylinder Robin Goodfellow Append re for what a lemon does to your lips

I’m just a girl so Take this pink thing off my eyes