Hard skin and soft red flesh, I bleed with every bite and slice. Eyeless but full of eyes, spit me out when you find me.

I describe a type of fear, but people with that fear cower from my name, As there is no difference if you spell my name forwards or backwards. What do you call me?

When we are apart we speak aloud, when we are together we mumble about. We are a pair, below and above, we meet another when we are in love. What are we?

A clockmaker sold every last clock, and had no more materials to make more He got so desperate he sold his own personal clock, he also didn't have a phone or watch If a deadline for an order arrived, you could say he was this in more ways than one

I am the verb the garden depends on. A ritual repeated, never done. I am not the liquid, but the act itself. Put me before can and I name the tool I use.