I'm some riddles, I'm used to describe eyelids. In other riddles, it's hair, or the end of your life. But actually, I have something to do with windows.

A slender thread of metallic grace, Connecting here and there with a trace, In the old days, it sang with a whispering hum, Carrying voices and electricity where they thrum.

In a shell of tan, a twin within, delight in crunch for all to munch. Often crushed to smooth or chunky delight, it spreads joy every bite.

Water snake? Lawn saver? Or portable garden fountain?

I rise without wings, descend without a fall, guiding feet to every floor, a zigzagged hall.