I have no voice and no words of my own, so I borrow yours. I have no face, but need space to be heard Inside or outdoors

A knock at the door? Under the floor? Either way, it’s thumping so timely. When you’re scared you can hear it get faster, yet it’s still tuned so finely. To lose tempo is trouble. Metrono-more? make it double. It’s life’s way of keeping your timing. It be not the vessel, but whats heard when you’re nestled on the chest of who keeps you shining.

Sometimes I slice Other times I have eight strings But all times I shred What am I?

Mu first three, a container most preservative. My last three, sounds like a contagious sleep signal. Put both together and in some places I am grand. A deep crevasse, a scar on the motherland.

In your hand, I wield great power, Changing channels by the hour. A buttoned guide for couch-bound souls, I give my users faraway control.