We built this... on Rock n Roll Say you don't know me Or recognize my face Say you don't care who goes To that kind of place

My feathers mirror moonless skies, yet clever thoughts fill watchful eyes. I speak in calls and borrowed sound, wherever forest paths are found.

Zombies would probably like the look of these nuts

I make your cheeks burn, though no fire is near. A silent recoil, a visceral fear. A cultural faux pas, held ever so dear.

I set boundaries. I surround the dearly departed. I'm white on black or green. I'm sometimes seen on the sidewalk, in various colors. People use me to secure a hold on equipment.