I was once dressed in comfort, Now worn thin by time and care. I still hold together somehow, Though too much of me is air. I may cover tired shoulders, Or describe a tired excuse. The more I am relied upon, The less I have to use. What word am I?

I’m black or brown, and tied on tight. I hide one eye and block the light.

Rock a by, baby, on the treetop When the wind blows, I will rock. Please call CPS on the mother who put me up there while carrying her baby!

I have no voice, yet I can sing, To give the faithful praise I ring. In books of leather, I am bound, With sacred words and joyful sound. In times of worship, I am read, To lift the souls of those who tread

With a curve, I scoop, A warm embrace I deliver, Soup's faithful servant.