The Special on at Ogilvy's

Not as I remember it.

On my way out of Ogilvy's, I got caught in a revolving door
And never left.
I still and always see my image in that glass,
Going the opposite way.
It stays eight as I grow apparently old.
And ever and ever and ever again we spin,
Between the warm interior full of fantastic jewels
And the cold and busy street that goes one way.