My first word is an age based on metal, an integral part of steel, not simply carbon. My second helps your breathing stay, without them, you would be done. All together, I keep you alive, stuck in a machine, as pressure pulls air inside.

Put it in the door, to try and get ahead; put it in your mouth, and regret what you said. It helps you stand, it helps you move, when you're dancing, it helps you groove. Watch where you step, don't put yours on mine, or a stubbed toe will end your line.

What’s black and white and read all over?

Why was the broom late to class? It . . .

I stretch far and straight from town to town, with steel on wood where wheels roll down. I carry people, cargo, too, what am I that runs straight through?