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First, you'll find me after a dive through the clouds, a tie and a poke, some lifts or a drag. My second you'll find, is often misused. Famous for a fruit, a man rolls over in his grave. My final part shares a link with Mars and Iron. Over a ribbon of moonlight I ride, and accost thee: who am I?
Sinister, an art displayed in the striped tents of those travelling troupes and yet a hobby at home; a baron's the best at having a ball of a time. Dexter, a blunder, a mistake, a sin; but to forgive, divine. Together, I am the drain for a central hub close to home, a prime target for a shrouded coffindweller.
Heralded as the hours, and a lazy parent, the public would argue over whether I'm an abortionist or murderer. Like father, like son; like mother, like daughter. What am I?
I'll bring closure to your coinage and fling danger at your foes. You knock things onto me, but I'm not made of wood.
First, you'll find me after a dive through the clouds, a tie and a poke, some lifts or a drag. My second you'll find, is often misused. Famous for a fruit, a man rolls over in his grave. My final part shares a link with Mars and Iron. Over a ribbon of moonlight I ride, and accost thee: who am I?