You measure my life in hours and I serve you by expiring. I’m quick when I’m thin and slow when I’m fat. The wind is my enemy

I have a hook, but I do not have a peg leg. I am often seen in a dress shirt.

I will protect you from the morning light, but my call will mean the end

My greeting is a warning; my welcome, a feast. Many flee my herald, yet few resist the priest. I split a thorned chapel, serve custard to the bold, What monarch of the market am I, crowned in green and gold?

What’s black when you get it, red when you use it, and white when you’re all through with it?