|
Round, like a circle in a spiral |
|
Like a wheel within a wheel |
|
Never ending or beginning |
|
On an ever-spinning reel |
|
Like a snowball down a mountain |
|
Or a carnival balloon |
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Like a carousel that's turning |
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Running rings around the moon |
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Like a clock whose hands are sweeping |
|
Past the minutes of its face |
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And the world is like an apple |
|
Rolling silently in space |
|
Like the circles that you find |
|
In the windmills of your mind |
|
Like a tunnel that you follow |
|
To a tunnel of its own |
|
Down a hollow to a cavern |
|
Where the sun has never shone |
|
Like a door that keeps revolving |
|
In a half-forgotten dream |
|
Like the ripples from a pebble |
|
Someone tosses in a stream |
|
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping |
|
Past the minutes of its face |
|
And the world is like an apple |
|
Rolling silently in space |
|
Like the circles that you find |
|
In the windmills of your mind |
|
Keys that jingle in your pocket |
|
Words that jangle in your head |
|
Why did summer go so quickly? |
|
Was it something that you said? |
|
Lovers walk along the shore |
|
Leave their footprints in the sand |
|
Is the sound of distant drumming |
|
Just the fingers of your hand? |
|
Pictures hanging in a hallway |
|
In the fragment of this song |
|
Half-remembered names and faces |
|
But to whom do they belong? |
|
When you knew that it was over |
|
Were you suddenly aware |
|
That the autumn leaves were turning |
|
To the color of her hair? |
|
Like a circle in a spiral |
|
Like a wheel within a wheel |
|
Never ending or beginning |
|
On an ever-spinning reel |
|
As the images unwind |
|
Like the circles that you find |
|
In the windmills of your mind |
|
Pictures hanging in a hallway |
|
In the fragment of this song |
|
Half-remembered names and faces |
|
But to whom do they belong? |
|
When you knew that it was over |
|
Were you suddenly aware |
|
That the autumn leaves were turning |
|
To the color of her hair? |
|
Like a circle in a spiral |
|
Like a wheel within a wheel |
|
Never ending or beginning |
|
On an ever-spinning reel |
|
As the images unwind |
|
Like the circles that you find |
|
In the windmills of your mind |
