In fields of brass, I stand proud, shaping sounds that travel loud. On beast or band, guide or guard, my call echoes near and far.

Some are an eternal thing Some are found on old hot-rods Or frenzied in Elden Ring Or lit to start the Olympics, for Greek Gods

A place to read, A place to recline, No rest for your arms, But one for your behind. What am I?

I have two wheels and a chain that sings, No motor hum, just muscle brings. Pedal strong through wind and hill, A faithful steed with iron will. No plug, no charge, just sweat and glee. Human-powered, wild and free.

For a while, this substance was the best thing around, Its name describes a time when its use was profound. But it’s since slipped down and lost its high place. Today you get it when third in a race.