I’m stacked in the kitchen and stacked in the bank, I rise when I’m needed - you’ve got me to thank. Some break me for meals, some chase me instead, I’m daily, I’m doughy, I’m better when spread.

I come in books and boxes. My head comes in different colors. Take me out and scratch my head, better be quick before I’m dead. What am I?

Three I extend, firm in stance, a keeper still in sacred trance. Upon me sat the oracles of old, their tongues ablaze with truths untold. Neither beast nor man am I, yet I have stood where gods drew nigh.

These curtains close before the show begins its nightly run Then rise again, cutting off the end before it’s done A pair they are, soft and small with tassels gold or black If you look close, you might see movement left and right and back

I was a mighty weapon of song, but times changed and I took a hidden route. I now lie in the middle of the road, tweedle dee, tweedle dum, awaiting my prey. What am I?