Answer:
According to the music industry, you can count on a midnight train and the devil to turn up here.
I heard of a wonder, of words moth-eaten. That is a strange thing, I thought, weird. That a man's song be swallowed by a worm. His blinded sentences, his bedside stand-by rustled in the night - and the robber-guest. Not one wit the wiser. For the words he had mumbled.
I have legs but never walk, I may have flowers but no soil, I hold food but never eat.
More precious than gold, but cannot be bought, Can never be sold, only earned if itβs sought, If it is broken it can still be mended, At birth it canβt start nor by death is it ended.
Three little letters. A paradox to some. The worse that it is, the better it becomes.
My days are numbered. What am I?