I can speak in every voice, sing every song, even give every speech. A great connector of man, though for you to hear my words, I must sit on your head. What am I?

Cleaned and polished in your drawer I sit Getting me dirty is a job that fits Big or small your face warps wide If you focus hard you can bend me with your mind

For some, seeing things becomes clearer. For others, not so much. What am I ?

In a toolbox snug and tight, a twist of fate turns all just right. With a grip so firm, it bends to my will, a crooked path it soon can fill.

Quiet speak in the dead of night How secrets are spread and kept out of sight.