I am used to usually sit in place, maybe rock or roll, but I am not used to deliver the death penalty anymore. You can find me in Classrooms and restaurants and offices and homes .

I am the hymn of what once was whole, a silent scribe of a vanished soul. I wear the grey of memory’s veil, In death, I speak what life won’t tell. I mark the end, yet still a prize, what am I, from which phoenix rise?

I slip into cups without a single sound, Kings fear me more than any blade or war, One tiny drop and empires crumble slow, Yet doctors use me to heal what I destroy.

I can be of sound or schock. I can either be calm or come crashing down with a mighty roar. Very rarely I become rogue, and therefore tales of Men, never to return.

I have a thousand roads, but I do not have the embrace of the sun. I am known for my trail of death.