I've got two tickets here, won't you pack your bags and let's leave tonight.

Tear one off and scratch my head, what once was red is black instead.

In the air it flies, whispers sweetly, never lies. A dance of notes, a gentle breeze, a balm for hearts, a soul's ease.

What runs, but never walks. Murmurs, but never talks. Has a bed, but never sleeps. And has a mouth, but never eats?

In origins I was not in existence; this tube based system required manual assistance. Then a clicker came by, connected by string; until infrared changed the scene. My onomatopoeic name changed to this singular six letter answer, all about control.