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?