I have five fingers, but I do not have fingernails. I am known for the cold and sterile.

I have twenty-four faces, it’s hard to believe. When you look at me I have sixteen vertices. Eight cubes when unfolded in this reality. Thirty-two edges is quite the sight to see.

what looses it's head in the morning only to gain it back at night?

Suspending you above the ground, I keep you safe and rested. From sounds similar to pigs in the muck.

I spin without a sound, yet my path is bound, with life I am crowned