Your hands weren't as blue As you told me they were Oh, you've been painting all those things Like some kind of bowerbird And your lips are And your hands I can't stop checking in the mirror I can't stop checking And I keep waking up in the night I keep examining my body I can't stop checking in the mirror I better think of something 'Cause I'm turning Am I turning? Am I turning? Am I turning? I think I don't feel the same On the back of my neck I better think of something I better think But your lips are And your hands I can't stop checking in I can't stop checking And I keep waking up in the night I keep examining my body I can't stop checking in the mirror I better think of something 'Cause I'm turning Am I turning? Am I turning? Am I turning? Am I turning? ♪ Your hands weren't as blue As you told me they were But I think I'm turning I think I'm