| (Theme from The Thomas Crown Affair) |
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| Bbm | F7 | | Like a circle in a spiral, like a | wheel within a wheel, |
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| Bbm | | Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning | reel, |
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| Bb7 | Ebm7 | | Like a s | nowball down a mountain or a | carnival balloon |
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| Ab7 | C#maj7 | | Like a car | ousel that's turning running r | ings around the moon, |
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| F#maj7 | C7 | | Like a | clock whose hands are sweeping past the | minutes of its face, |
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| F7 | C#dim | | And the wor | ld is like an apple whirling silently in | space, |
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| F7 | Bbm | | Like the circles that you f | ind in the windmills of your m | ind. |
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| Bbm | F7 | | Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of it | s own, |
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| Bbm | | Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never sh | one, |
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| Bb7 | Ebm7 | | Like a d | oor that keeps revolving in a half-forgotten dr | eam, |
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| Ab7 | C#maj7 | | Or the ri | pples from a pebble someone | tosses in a stream, |
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| F#maj7 | Cm7 | | Like a | clock whose hands are sweeping past the | minutes of its face, |
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| F7 | C#dim | | And the w | orld is like an apple whirling silently in | space, |
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| F7 | Bbm | | Like the circles that you | find in the windmills of your m | ind. |
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| Bbm | Ebm7 | | Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that j | angle in your head; |
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| Ab7 | C#maj7 | | Why did s | ummer go so quickly? Was it s | omething that I said? |
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| C#7 | F#maj7 | | Lovers | walk along a shore and leave their | footprints in the sand; |
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| C7 | Fm | | Is the s | ound of distant drumming just the f | ingers of your hand? |
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| Bb7 | Ebm | | Pictures ha | nging in a hallway and the fr | agments of a song, |
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| Ab7 | C#maj7 | | Half-rem | embered names and faces, but to w | hom do they belong? |
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| | | F#maj7 | Cm7 | | | When you k | new that it was over, were you | suddenly aware |
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| | | F7 | Bbm | | | That the a | utumn leaves were turning to the color of her | hair? |
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| | | F7 | | | Like a ci | rcle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel, |
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| | | C#dim | | | Never ending or beginning on an ever spinni | ng reel, |
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| | | Bbm | F7 | | | As the im | ages unwind, like the cir | cles that you find |
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| | | Bbm | Ebm | Bbm | F7 | Bbm | | | In the windmills of your m | ind. | | | | |
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