When I’m alive, you sing. When I’m dead, you clap. What am I?

Echoed call to arms, Beast's pride and herald's command, Shape of crescents' grace.

In autumn's embrace, I'm the fingers of the earth, gathering golden whispers. My teeth are not for biting, but for tidying nature's carpet.

I sit on walls and ceilings, or stand on the floor. I can be on a table, or hang by the door. I come in many shapes and sizes, Tiffany is one. I scare away the dark for your little son.

A brand of device that helps muscles not hurt And the sound that makes up the song of a bird