People got into fights for wearing me or not wearing me a few years back. But at any time, you could wear me at a themed ball or party.

I ramble on without a pair of legs, A hammer of the gods with flaming heart. I’m full of nothing, still, the whole world begs To watch my stairway tear the sky apart.

I hold no drink, yet I help words flow, Dip your tool in me, and ideas will grow. I sit on desks from long ago’s spell. What am I?

Leather, pins, and coloured hair. Social critique and music with flair. A subculture, in the seventies born. Who am I, once society’s thorn?

I tell you someone has arrived, but I have no mouth. I was mechanical back in the day, but my electrical variant wouldn't appear until the year eighteen-thirty-one. What am I?