Текст песни
To a tunnel of its own, to the colour of her hair, like a clock whose hands are sweeping
or the fragment of a song
Running rings around the moon, never ending or beginning
Past the minutes on its face, but to whom do they belong
Lovers walk along a shore, on an ever-spinning reel
Like a door that keeps revolving, was it something that i said, someone tosses in a stream
pictures hanging in a hallway
why did summer go so quickly
Like a circle in a spiral, spinning silently in space Alison, was the sound of distant drumming
Was the sound of distant drumming, where the sun has never shone, in a half-forgotten dream
Like a door that keeps revolving, past the minutes on its face
But to whom do they belong, in the windmills of your mind Alison, half-remembered names and faces
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping, past the minutes on its face Mind, like a wheel within a wheel
never ending or beginning
and leave their footprints in the sand
Like a carousel that s turning, past the minutes on its face
Like a circle in a spiral, never ending or beginning Moyet, spinning silently in space
Spinning silently in space, words that jangle in your head
like the circles that you find
In a half-forgotten dream, half-remembered names and faces Your, half-remembered names and faces
like a clock whose hands are sweeping
When you knew that it was over, someone tosses in a stream
keys that jingle in your pocket
Like a circle in a spiral, was the sound of distant drumming, in a half-forgotten dream
was it something that i said
Like a tunnel that you follow, lovers walk along a shore
Spinning silently in space, spinning silently in space, like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Like a carousel that s turning, or the fragment of a song Moyet, like a tunnel that you follow
Like a carousel that s turning, was it something that i said, like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind, that the autumn leaves were turning
Was the sound of distant drumming, and leave their footprints in the sand, like a circle in a spiral
Pictures hanging in a hallway, never ending or beginning Your, in the windmills of your mind
Where the sun has never shone, or the fragment of a song
like the circles that you find
but to whom do they belong
In a half-forgotten dream, in the windmills of your mind, like the ripples from a pebble
on an ever-spinning reel
But to whom do they belong, never ending or beginning, and leave their footprints in the sand
And the world is like an apple, like a wheel within a wheel, past the minutes on its face
to the colour of her hair
like the circles that you find
Why did summer go so quickly, like a wheel within a wheel
In the windmills of your mind, in the windmills of your mind Your, where the sun has never shone
down a hollow to a cavern
to a tunnel of its own
In a half-forgotten dream, but to whom do they belong, like a door that keeps revolving