I’m small, but I can grant you a seat, To see a show or take a fleet. Scan or tear me, then you’re on your way, What little pass can save the day?

I crush the iron, yet flow like a stream, A cradle for rebellion, a teenager's dream. I am hard as a mountain, I roll with the beat, And I stand at the altar where heavy keys meet. What am I?

I am proof that washing machines have a favourite snack.

I have padded cups but hold no drink, I have a headband, but no hair to hold back. I sit on your ears to help you think, Or deliver the beats of a favorite track.

Strum my strings with gentle grace, Melodies dance in a wooden embrace. With frets that guide your nimble stride, In my voice, the stories abide.