Answer:
What goes through the door without pinching itself? What sits on the stove without burning itself? What sits on the table and is not ashamed?
In we go, out we go. All around and in a row. Always, always steady flow. When we'll stop, you'll never known. In we go, out we go.
In the forest, this blends in just right, but every December it is covered with lights. What is it?
Iron roof, glass walls, burns and burns and never falls.
I bind it and it walks. I loose it and it stops.
I'm the source of all emotion but I'm caged in a white prison.