Music Box

Pinch, pull and stretch the clay
Swipe away the dust, revealing what's true
Mold me in your image, and perfectly conceived by voices less careful than you

Ballerina in your music box, forever turning to the same tune
Rest your brittle bones, protect your paper skin
The gears will tire and wind down soon
Every day is different, though nothing's changed
They stare, but do they care about what you can't rearrange?
Who's face is in the mirror today?
Is it me, or am I in the way?

Set loose into the maze of the funhouse, of color and game
Unfazed by the circus, playing over her head
She will dance for herself all the same

Ballerina in your music box, forever turning to the same tune
Rest your brittle bones, protect your paper skin
The gears will tire and wind down soon
Every day is different, though nothing's changed
They stare, but do they care about what you can't rearrange?
Who's face is in the mirror today?
Is it me, or am I in the way?

Ballerina in your music box, forever turning to the same tune
Rest your brittle bones, protect your paper skin
The gears will tire and wind down soon
Every day is different, though nothing's changed
They stare, but do they care about what you can't rearrange?
Who's face is in the mirror today?
Is it me, or am I in the way?