Ahoy, me lads, I'm spun with might, Less air I hold, yet bind so tight. I help ye climb, or swing with glee, What am I, savvy? Tell me, d'ye see?

She sells seashells by the seashore, But tornados are moving in, one, maybe more, She should come inside, we can play a fun game! I have one with colored dots and a spinner, oh, what's its name?

When your Tuesday is fat, you let it all hang out before giving up whatever brings you joy for the next forty days.

The hull of a car, the snail’s artillery. Escar-gos home to this, should you foam at the sight of salt.

I help you see when things are unclear. If you are in the dark, I shed a light, my dear. I scare away shadows that try to persist. From darkness to bright with a flick of the wrist.