I am made by people, but I am not alive. I can move, help, and do tasks. Some of us look like humans, and some work in factories. What am I?

With ease and comfort I trim your nails, on the hunt for trading goods I set the sails. The first, small and fine, the second, mighty by design.

Springing from the ground like a flower, I might imprison a royal power, Or simply tell you the hour. Fall off me and your outlook is dour.

What loses its head in the morning , but gets it back at night?

Beneath the earth where sunlight dies, with stone for walls and barred confines. No open sky, no freedom near, a place of shadows, dread, and fear.