In the heart of the machine, I spin, a circular dance, teeth interlock, crafting motion's advance. Without me, the giant stands still, a silent tale of iron will.

Mary has four daughters, and each of her daughters has a brother. How many children does Mary have?

I eat gas, make it more heavy. When I die, I'm an old Chevy.

Am I white on black Or black on white? The world may never know

I have many arms but no skin, and hundreds of DIAMONDS but no wealth. I hang upside down all day, yet I never get a headache. I’m born from fire and ice, and I can turn a dark room into a ballroom with one flip of a switch. What am I?