A crown of points upon a head Sometimes cut off after a shot of lead Reindeer, stag, or moose, Let the arrows loose To claim the crown for your roost.

I sit on a throne with a crown on my head, or I stay on your desk with your pencils instead.

I’m a twisty, turny puzzle With lots of walls in sight. You try to find your way through me, But I keep turning left and right. What am I?

I peer through binoculars while I quietly hide. I sit in a forest hut, guide by my side. I'm searching for feathers from my little nook, writing down all my finds in my little notebook.

If you use me in moderation, you’ll feel fine; if you use me every day, I’ll do you harm and leave you with lasting effects.