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.

Like a carousel that's turning, running rings around the moon.

Like a clock who's hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face.

And the world is like an apple whirling 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.

Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream.

Like a clock who's hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face.

And the world is like an apple whirling 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 a shore and leave their footprints in the sand.

Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your hand?

Pictures hanging in a hallway and the fragment of a song,

half-remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?

When you knew that it was over, you were suddenly aware

that the autumn leaves were turning to the colour of her hair!

Like the 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!