No hands I have, yet still I press, In moments thick with expectation’s stress.

You might do this without even realizing it.zI am not a song, yet I carry a tune, often escaping a mouth in the afternoon. Machines make me too, though they know no words, a quiet little sound that is often heard.

To solve this, but not using a phone You'd use this device Don't worry, you're not alone A lap or desk, with trackpad or singular mice

Used to sign your name with, usually blue or black, Or sprayed out by a squid in a defensive attack, It used to be found dripping off the ends of quills, Or hiding under stoppers in the shallowest of wells

I top your latte, crown the sea, and cushion you while you sleep peacefully.