One two three, you can slalom on me. Two three four, all the blood you adore. Two three, chinese philosophy. Three four, when you enter a door. Fully, I cover head, shoulder, toe knee, What am I, one two three four, from your crown to the floor?

A magazine with a high number of bullets. I am also used to store harmful chemicals. I can often be found in marching bands or be used to intimidate my enemies on the battlefield.

Cut off my head to see something to scale. Cut out my neck to make me much worse. With neither I'm in borrowed burrows through winter. Constant refilling is my miserable curse.

On the beach, I erase the day's damage and make all things new, In your laundry room, I do the same thing to your clothing, too.

Small cut, small score - I mark a win or fit a blade's teeth. On belts I sit, on calendars I climb, A tiny step you take to brag you reached a height.