I hide in wood or metal fair, With secrets folded, tucked with care. You pull me out, I slide no more, To guard your things behind one door. But change one sound, and I become The hand that paints, where lines all run. From sketch to scene, I help you see - Two meanings locked in rhyme with me.

I am always true, except when spoken. I prove myself by failing. I cannot exist alone, yet I collapse if paired. I am strongest when denied, and weakest when believed. What am I?

When you make pasta, and dont want sauce to slide, use this shape, for a satisfying bite.

Metal beast humming Dusk and dawn, chasing the light Workers' common trip

I can be a type of shot in pool or the edge of a river where you can stay cool. I’m a better place than a mattress to store your money or what a movie might make if it is epically funny.