It can't be seen, can't be felt,
can't be heard and can't be smelt.
It lies behind stars and under hills,
and empty holes it fills.
It comes first and follows after,
ends life and kills laughter.
What is it?
With pointed fangs I sit and wait; with piercing force I crunch out fate; grabbing victims, proclaiming might; physically joining with a single bite. What am I?
I sometimes come in a can but I'm not food.
I sometimes come in a bottle but I'm not a beverage.
I come in different colors but I'm not a rainbow.
I'm sometimes used with canvas but I'm not a tent.
I'm used with a brush but I'm not toothpaste.
What Am I?