Lyrics
Like a snowball down a mountain, on an ever-spinning reel, and the world is like an apple
like a tunnel that you follow
Lovers walk along a shore, like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel, like a wheel within a wheel of, as the images unwind
like a snowball down a mountain
but to whom do they belong
like the circles that you find
or a carnival balloon
To the colour of her hair, that the autumn leaves were turning, just the fingers of your hand
Past the minutes on its face, to a tunnel of its own
Why did summer go so quickly, to the colour of her hair
on an ever-spinning reel
spinning silently in space
like a door that keeps revolving
like the ripples from a pebble
in the windmills of your mind
Where the sun has never shone, pictures hanging in a hallway
in the windmills of your mind
like the circles that you find
And leave their footprints in the sand, never ending or beginning, but to whom do they belong
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping, and the world is like an apple of, spinning silently in space
spinning silently in space
like a carousel that s turning
But to whom do they belong, like the ripples from a pebble
To a tunnel of its own, or the fragment of a song
Past the minutes on its face, or the fragment of a song
Never ending or beginning, or a carnival balloon Windmills, in the windmills of your mind
Like a snowball down a mountain, or the fragment of a song
like a wheel within a wheel
Just the fingers of your hand, that the autumn leaves were turning Alison, but to whom do they belong
To the colour of her hair, when you knew that it was over
When you knew that it was over, in the windmills of your mind
In the windmills of your mind, pictures hanging in a hallway Moyet, someone tosses in a stream
past the minutes on its face
Or a carnival balloon, like a clock whose hands are sweeping Your, spinning silently in space
or the fragment of a song
Like a snowball down a mountain, where the sun has never shone
On an ever-spinning reel, lovers walk along a shore
Past the minutes on its face, someone tosses in a stream
Like the circles that you find, like the circles that you find Moyet, that the autumn leaves were turning
