| (Theme from The Thomas Crown Affair) |
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Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel, |
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Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel, |
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Like a snowball down a mountain or a carnival balloon |
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Like a carousel that's turning 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 whirling silently in space, |
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Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind. |
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Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own, |
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Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone, |
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Like a door that keeps revolving in a half-forgotten dream, |
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Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream, |
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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 whirling silently in space, |
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Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind. |
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Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your head; |
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Why did summer go so quickly? Was it something that I said? |
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Lovers walk along a shore and leave their footprints in the sand; |
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Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your hand? |
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Pictures hanging in a hallway and the fragments of a song, |
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Half-remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong? |
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When you knew that it was over, were you suddenly aware |
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That the autumn leaves were turning to the color of her hair? |
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Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel, |
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Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel, |
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As the images unwind, like the circles that you find |
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In the windmills of your mind. |
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