It's where your heart is and where your hearth is.

A thin highway that keeps no guest, Where wandering streams briefly flow. Though empty, I disturb their rest And guide them upward as they go. What am I?

Gee, it’s a type of butter. Could you clarify that for me?

In the burrowed halls of earth, a stripey knight does dwell. Fierce in fight, yet small in might, its tales the woods do tell.

The first four can be a nap The last four can be a space Together, a place for crap Tasteless, sure, but there's the place