I’m long, green, and coiled up tight, I love to drink water and spit with my might. I slither around without any feet, Helping the plants survive summer's heat.

I have cities but no houses, Forests with no leaves or trees, Oceans vast without a single drop, And mountains rising from the breeze. I can take you across the world or point you to a treasure, Yet I never move an inch, no matter what you measure. What am I?

Today something bizarre happened, I ended up losing twenty percent of my couch . . .

From roof and branch I often grow, not from seed nor root below. Though hard as stone to sight and touch, a little warmth becomes too much.

The place where... I'll need this someday... goes to live. Not organized, but strangely useful. What am I?