[Madam Majestic]
On a circle in a spiral, Like a will within a will,
Never ending or begining, On a ever spinning wheel,
Like a snowball down a mountain, Or a carnival balloon,
Like a carousel that's turning, Running rings around the moon,
Like a clock whose hands is slipping, Past the minutes of it's face,
And the world is like an apple, Floating silently in space,
Like the circles that you find, In the windmills of your mind.
*instrumental*
[Madam Majestic]
Like a tunnel that you follow, To a tunnel of it's own,
Down a hallow to a cabin, Where the sun is never shown,
Like the door that keeps you open, You can dream the way you dream,
Like the ripples from the pebbles, Someone tosses in the stream,
Like a clock whose hands is slipping, Past the minutes of it's face,
And the world is like an apple, Floating silently in space,
Like the circles that you find, In the windmills of your mind.
