I'm a small bit of hair, but often more, You can't sleep before doing me to your door. I sound like a lake with a Scottish shore, With my friend load, I'm certainly no bore.

Long and slim, You can drive me in. Long and slim, You can give me a trim. Long and slim, But not quite a pin. Long and slim, We're at the end of a limb.

I sound like a question asked aloud. I carry power, signals, or strain. I bind, connect, or sometimes cut. What am I?

I'm sticky, comes in a roll, and loves to help when paper or boxes has a hole?

Born in silence, fed on leaves, I am torn from living sleep. Worms die so kings may shine. I crossed empires soaked in blood, passed hand to hand through plague and greed. Roads were named for me, yet I never chose the journey.