One from the pack, A Trite cage, it's true, Burn me alive, I'm the one that hurts you

With an additional one of my third letter I become a treat, but without that addition I am most often associated with sand and heat.

I yearn for the sea, With no sails I'm forlorn, 'cause I'm now in the clink. It's a dollar per corn.

He rosins the bow, I answer the call, four tight strings spark a musical brawl. Chin held tight, I cry and croon, gold or your soul, you’ll wager soon.

Cigarette dropping, Razed remain, Nest of a phoenix, Samara buried became.