RIDDLE GAME

I’m fragile though I have no bones. I hold life inside yet fit in your hand. Crack me and I’m finished; leave me whole and I may bring forth a bird.

I thunder down the tracks, swift as the wind. I have an engine but no smoke, a whistle but no flame. What am I?

I spend my days with razors and scissors. I give others a clean face, yet I can never give the same gift to myself. Who am I?

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