A Battleship from Japan The best Battleship It sunk The Americans destroyed it A Band

An ancient shape of mass devotion, forever pointing at midnights ocean But used by man to build a tower, where at its tip lies all the power

Worn through, where whispers are heard. Olympic rounds, pierce for the words. Drums are near, where loops are hooked. Twice the wince, brings a studded look.

I’m a place of bars where no drinks are poured, Where sentences end without a word. No judge, no keys, yet heat decides, What am I where flavor resides?

In the garden, I'm a trusty friend, by earth's side my work will never end. With a handle and a blade so wide, I help you dig, I help you hide.