Answer:
Something wholly unreal, yet seems real to I. Think my friend, tell me where does it lie?
Within, I clean all that is bad and is old. I make juice that’s the color of gold. Should I die, a filter machine would you need assembled to replace me and beans I resemble.
A thousand colored folds stretch toward the sky. Atop a tender strand, rising from the land, until killed by maiden's hand. Perhaps a token of love, perhaps to say goodbye.
We are few to the wise; We are abundant to the drunken; We can calm the beast and are precious to the child; We can devour the heart, without piercing the skin
What loses its head in the morning and gets it back at night?
What sphinxes employ and players enjoy.