Answer:
I fly through the air on small feathered wings, seeking out life and destroying all things.
Walk on the living, they don't even mumble. Walk on the dead, they mutter and grumble.
Inside a burning house, this thing is best to make. And best to make it quickly, before the fire's too much to take.
It is destruction made out of thin air, You hear it howl and give a prayer, Through barns and houses it will tear. It is a deadly funnel, Of violent and twisting air.
I'm not really more than holes tied to more holes. I'm strong as good steel, though not as stiff as a pole.
I never sleep yet sometimes I weep. I can get angry or just be happy. Wherever you go, I will follow. No matter what you do, I will be there. I cannot die. What am I?