I lay no eggs, yet a chick will arise, From the spicy ash where the parent dies. I consume my own body to conquer the grave, Reborn in the flame from the life that I gave. What am I?

The maze beneath forgotten town, Where dead may walk without a sound, A single sprawl of spooky lair, Or perhaps a tool for feline’s hair-?? ...Oh come on, who made a joke of the riddle? That fourth line was terrible!

I sit upon the highest crown, A stylish brim that curves right down. A felted friend from days of old, To shield the eyes of detectives bold.

Worn by the rich elite, half a pair of glasses, singular lens symbol of wealth.

I hold a thousand voices, Yet all of me is still. I travel through the ages, Without moving at will.