Tina Arena - The windmills of your mind

Like a circle in a sp^Cmiral, like a wheel within a wh^B7eel, Never ending or beg^B7inning, on an ever spinning r^Cmeel Like a snowball down a m^Cm7ountain, or a carnival ball^Aboon, Like a carousel that's t^B7urning, running rings around the m^Gmoon

Like a clock whose hands are sw^Cmeeping, past the minutes of its f^Fmace And the world is like an ^Gapple, whirling silently in ^Cm7space Like the circles that you f^Csus2ind, in the windmills of your m^Cmind

Like a tunnel that you ^Cmfollow, to a tunnel of its ^B7own, Down a hollow to a c^B7avern, where the sun has never sh^Cmone Like a door that keeps r^Cm7evolving, in a h^C7alf-forgotten dr^Abeam, Or the ripples from a p^B7ebble, someone tosses in a str^Gmeam

Like a clock whose hands are sw^Cmeeping, past the minutes of its f^Fmace And the world is like an ^Gapple, whirling silently in ^Cm7space Like the circles that you f^Csus2ind, in the windmills of your m^Cmind

Keys that j^Cmingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your h^Fmead, Why did summer go so qu^B7ickly? Was it something that you sa^Cmid? Lovers walk along the s^Cm7hore, and leave their f^C7ootprints in the s^Aband, Is the sound of distant dr^D7umming, just the fingers of your h^Gmand? Pictures hanging in a ^C7hallay, and the f^C7ragment of a s^Abong, Half-remembered names and f^B7aces, but to whom do they bel^Gmong? When you knew that it was ^Cmover, you were suddenly aw^B7are, that the autumn leaves were t^B7urning, to the colour of her h^Cmair

Like a c^Cmircle in a spiral, a wheel within a w^Fmheel, Never ending or beg^B7inning, on an ever spinning r^Cm7eel As the images unw^Cmind, like the circles that you f^Gmind, In the windmills of your ^Cm mind