I hold the bird that sings no more, Yet warriors clash behind my door. Prizefighters test their might, In my squared ring, day or night. What am I?

I have a warm side and on cold. At night your head I’ll grab my hold. Sleep tight I’ll guard you still. In the comfort you’ll have your fill. What am I?

I hold without hands and bend without breaking, Small in my form, yet styles I am making. Found in a curl or a twist of design, I’m not a road turn, though I share the sign. What am I?

Ahoy, matey! I stand tall on land or sea, A pirate's colors fly high on me. What am I?

A silver serpent crosses the land. Drawing miles of straight lines, sometimes a bend. It never sleeps but lays on a bed. Like stairs taking people up, yet it always stays flat.