I stood before radar, before radio's call, a guardian through tempest and squall. By flame, by lens, by electric might, I pierced the dark with guiding light. Who am I, watching each night?

I am taken from a mine and shut up in a wooden case, from which I am never released, and yet I am used by almost every artist. What am I?

As light as a feather, yet no man can hold it for long. What am I

I can make your mouth feel hot and wild, Or leave you grinding like it’s just my style. I’ll shower you quick, no need to linger, And poke at your patience like a wagging finger.

What do you put in a bucket to make it lighter