I wear a crown of storms that never sleep, my bands of colors swirl crimson deep. So many worlds within my sway, yet no solid ground beneath the fray.

I have a red berries, but I do not have a moral compass. I am often seen in Homes or on trees.

There's a tool that can only be grown Though we've seen it transformed into stone It's most useful for sleeping And ye olde record keeping And quite a bit lighter than bone

I ignore you all day, destroy your stuff at night, and still get fed like royalty.

I am a belt that holds a vast, blue gown. You cannot buckle me up or down. Ships cross my line, but I am never wet.