I’m already dead, call my next of kin! My homophone fits in the overhead bin. What am I?

I rule the house, though I pay no rent, I sleep all day, my energy spent. You serve me meals, you clean my throne, Yet still you think you own the home.

I turn without a dancer’s grace, And carve destruction in my place. A silent eye amid the fight, My voice a howl, my touch a bite.

I swim in oceans, swift and small, With armor light, I eat and crawl. When heat is near, I change my hue, From grey to pink, a brighter view.

I have a skin, flesh, and ribs, but I do not have a heart, mind, or bibs. I am often seen in an autumn patch..