A number placed upon my head, a value from those wish me dead. A harvest great, so jump for joy! A brand of cloth to clean up soy.

I wear a hat of orange and a simple dress of white Standing still or carried I will give to you my light I start the night tall, but as the hours pass I shrink and shrink til finally I'm just a little lass

I make music but I’m not an instrument. I’m really groovy.

Found underground, or in the depths of the sea, I tell of stories old and none of glee. Tragedy wrought by fire and ash, brought about by a mighty clash. Uncovered, I say do better, yet those in power don't heed my letter.

I am known for being gold, but I do not keep you cold. You might see me on a sheep, or cuddle under synthetic me.