I'm often used to open, but not to close. Cast iron or wooden, my duty's to show. What am I?
Tall as I may be, user beware. My last step may cause you despair.
What am I?
In hallways I loiter, but for a good cause I swear. To show you the path is the burden I bear. What am I?
I'm clingy and loud, but I help you grasp tight. Through fire and flames, your meal will be cooked alright. What am I?
This image may give away my identity, but I hold the key to this project's recovery. What am I?
A nifty device am I, as light as a leaf. A good tool for opening, much better than your teeth. What am I?
Petrified in stone is my existence's bane. The Forbidden Cinnamon Bun is my other name. What am I?
Though always on duty, I'm most used at night. As a wise man once said, 'let there be light.' What am I?
Weaved and woven is my itchy exterior. Purchased and brought to be rolled in your interior. What am I?
A tendril of my body is this picture's spotlight. Blown in glass, I'll give you an insight. What am I?
Keeper of secrets, is my owners sole role. I am what allows him to open - what a heavy toll. What am I?
I dispense what is necessary, for life and each other. Yet if you want a different temperature, you'll have to ask my brother. What am I?
Glasses cut, torched and stained form my helm atop my beautifully bright frame. What am I?
I force my way through paper, taking tokens of my victims. I leave you neat, little entries; the perfect ordering system. What am I?
I snap and I stutter, that is apart of my shutter. Images so smooth, you won't believe it's not butter. What am I?
I'm the center of attention, where you can put up your feet. But every so often you'll see me on the street. What am I?
I'll keep your things safe, close to the heart they'll be. Yes there's nobody quite like the handcuff like me. What am I?
While I resemble a weapon, it's merely for glue- don't fret! I'm nowhere near like those mentioned in the Second Amendment. What am I?
Bright as I may be, I'm worthless if I don't fit. I'm nothing without my housing unit. What am I?
Neither beginning nor end; I am the crossroads where they meet. You may even cross me as you walk down the street.
A bulwark of defense, only a key will be my trigger. Either that or a really strong scissor. What am I?
Fragile is I, but better than a cup. Pull me out if you'd like a martini. Up. What am I?
A majestic stag was I, where I once roamed the planet. Now I am nothing more than that centerpiece of Hamlet. What am I?
My legs crusted with age, I am dusty and old. But after all these years you still trust me to hold. What am I?
A table that you do not sit, a desk that is much too small. But I am the last one you use, before asleep you fall.
What is a wall without me, and more what a floor? Shelter from the elements, the inside of a roof and nothing more. What am I?