Turn Me Slowly

Paper teeth in a velvet phone, I count the rooms that aren't my own. A crooked bell, a borrowed tone, The floor forgets what it was shown. Turn me slowly, turn me bright, I lose the dark and keep the light. Call my name through broken white, I come back changed, but still in sight. A taxi moon inside the glass, Three plastic birds refuse to pass. I wear a bruise beneath my mask, You ask for truth; I make it last. Turn me slowly, turn me bright, I lose the dark and keep the light. Call my name through broken white, I come back changed, but still in sight. Odd little engine, cough and sway, You steal the ends of every day. I place my heart beside the tray, Then let the room misplace the gray. If the ceiling bends, let it bend, If the signal breaks, let it send. I was never built toend, I was only taught to suspend. Turn me slowly, turn me bright, I lose the dark and keep the light. Call my name through broken white, I come back changed, but still in sight. Turn me slowly, turn me bright, I lose the dark and keep the light.