I have many keys, but open no door, hidden hammers strike at my core. Black and white in ordered row, beneath your fingers, I sing and flow.

This pencil case just wont move, neither will this pen and notepad. No, its still still

One of me will keep you thinner A million of me to make your dinner Rub me the wrong way, you might get a splinter.

I am your words, and wards. I am only effective when understood, but far more entertaining when nearly rite.

As I lay me down to sleep, I lay my head on pillows peak. The peaks and valleys of which I speak, mostly exist whil asleep. What is this place that we all seek, to rest heads and get off our feet?