I gather what’s left behind when the work is done. I keep shut long after I can’t take the abuse any more. You forget me when your rotation is over, But deny all the blame when you start feeling the heat.

You walk in dirty like I’m not already sick of it. You press me flat and call it welcome. You never thank me. You never even look. And you think I’ll stay here forever?

I fly without wings, I’m hit without pain, I bounce but have no legs, I roll but have no brain. What am I?

There are words galore, but before was was was was was what before?

I can be found in computers or on your shoulder, and I often accompany a crunch.