When it comes down to me, it’s extremely close. Money or pulley, a tight transfer for both. I carry the switched to its dedicated host. Barbed at times, coiled. Tesla’s ‘not needed’ boast.

In shadows where secrets silently creep, A fortress for thoughts that wish to keep. Guarded well, both night and day, A safe retreat from prying eyes' display.

I might not have a home, but I'll work for my money, I'm a short, repetitive word, some might find funny, I'm unsightly and unkempt, but I'm really not a bane, Although I don't have a ticket, I'll travel by train.

A worker left some wood But would not take it back I saw a mess where he had been But could not find the stack

I think the cow was out in the sun too long... It's giving...