I start with the end of a cough My middle is the sound of the second of women I finish with the middle of the nation What am I?

I bind and mend with a sticky embrace, sealing secrets in a silent race. My roll spins round with adhesive grace, holding things in their rightful place.

We take and take from womb to grave But never have our fill The more we try to hold the thing The weaker grows the will But give it to another and A life you shall refill

A type of desk A Beatles song A Beatles album A Beatles movie

I am the final breath of a roaring fire A grey, soft ghost that cannot tire I am light enough to fly on the wind Yet I mark the place where the tree has sinned I am both the end of the flame And a tall strong wood that shares my name