I’m a handy mover, with my long handle and tines you can use me to move many materials. Though, despite my humble facade, pair me with a torch and I’m suddenly a symbol of protest and revolt.

There are more of me on earth than there are known stars. I am not alive though some people believe that. I am around for so long that I even shaped humans on a genetic basis. Most people dislike me but in some cases I can be useful for humans.

Three I extend, firm in stance, a keeper still in sacred trance. Upon me sat the oracles of old, their tongues ablaze with truths untold. Neither beast nor man am I, yet I have stood where gods drew nigh.

I was a mighty weapon of song, but times changed and I took a hidden route. I now lie in the middle of the road, tweedle dee, tweedle dum, awaiting my prey. What am I?

Freed from stone, skimmed from food Raised from sand, squeezed from wood Washed from flesh or pressed from fruit Oceans bloodied for this loot