Thy heart doth pound when I draw near, The crimson bull’s brew dost banish fear. Forged ‘neath the sun, yet chill as frost. I lend thee wings. Though, at what cost?

Called a berry or maybe cherry, but not known for my meat. Dried and roasted, beat to bits, add water and some heat. Have one or two or quite a few to start your morning right. Some of me, the remedy, for a drunken night.

Left to wander in the cloud, rejected by the spheres. Until I’m freed, sent on a trip that may take many years. Enjoy my tail from ages past, my intension, don’t assume. I may bring life to barren lands, or spell your very doom.

I toll for kings and common men, I sing at six, then noon again. I wake the world, I mourn the dead, a voice of metal, overhead.

I live on a neck but I'm not a noose, I mark where fingers find their use. Guitarists know me, I’m part of the set, but worry too much, and my name you'll regret. What am I?