Ceremony, clothed in ebony, one may require me. On the throne, clutched in hand tightly, please never ever take my role lightly.

In the cold, stormy night my gaze might save your life.

I’m the small, slick shape shore seekers shuffle the sand specked souvenir speech stretchers struggle to say Silent in my spiral, yet sparking the sound everyone swears I should make What am I?

I’m not alive, yet hold you tight, and keep you warm all through the night.

Contrary to what my name suggests, I don't make nor receive calls, but I -DO- sit on your noggin.