Answer:
I'll bring out your bulls and slow your roll. I may even come out of your skull.
I go up and never come down no matter how hard you wish. As I get higher more wrinkles crawl onto your face.
I turn everything around, but I cannot move. When you see me, you see you! What am I?
My voice is tender, my waist is slender and I'm often invited to play. Yet wherever I go, I must take my bow or else I have nothing to say. What am I?
I am a pretty one, fluttering in the pale blue sky. Delicate, fragile on the wing, indeed I am a pretty thing. What am I?
A little house full of meat, no door to go in and eat.