When the music dies, I become a prize, a sudden throne before your eyes. Fought over fast in frantic flair, the game is won by sitting here.

Silent sculptor of winter's might, crystal cloak on land and sea. Slippery surface, dancers glide, in drinks, I bring cool delight.

Tantalizing potential, Thieves' touch must be fine, To defeat this top amuser, A cruel joke in pine

A tower, a spire, red and white Not as a dwelling but still bright It is a store, but not the kind Often easy to find, if you look in the right place It’s big and tall, or low and concealed Used to feed or starve, depends on the definition

I am full of holes, but I can still hold water. What am I?