I go before trap, storm, and paper, but after quick and pound. I’m where heads are buried, and lines are drawn.

Under the ocean is where I dwell, but because I am sneaky, you can’t always tell. A living creature I may not be, but look inside me, and you’ll find men of the sea.

I am located in a bed, but I am not in a dream. People visit me for fish and the bubbling brooks.

A twist, a bend, a darkened skin, Hold the tasty warmth within. A salty crust, to give you thirst, I hail from the land of Wurst. Savory, sweet, whichever you eat, A soft, warm bite that's always a treat.

I'm a path of a constant curve. Distance is the thing I preserve. I'm unnoticed lest you observe.