Voir version française par Frida Boccara:
http://www.boiteachansons.net/Partitions/Frida-Boccara/Les-moulins-de-mon-coeur.php
Intro:
Like a circle in a s piral, like a wheel within a w heel,
Never ending or beg inning on an ever spinning r eel,
Like a snowball down a m ountain or a carnival ball oon
Like a carousel that's t urning running rings around the m oon,
Like a clock whose hands are s weeping past the minutes of its f ace,
And the world is like an a pple whirling silently in s pace,
Like the circles that you f ind in the windmills of your m ind.
Like a tunnel that you f ollow to a tunnel of its o wn,
Down a hollow to a c avern where the sun has never s hone,
Like a door that keeps rev olving in a half-forgotten d ream,
Or the ripples from a p ebble someone tosses in a s tream,
Like a clock whose hands are s weeping past the minutes of its f ace,
And the world is like an a pple whirling silently in s pace,
Like the circles that you f ind in the windmills of your m ind.
Keys that jingle in your p ocket, words that jangle in your h ead;
Why did summer go so q uickly? Was it something that you s aid?
Lovers walk along a s hore and leave their footprints in the s and;
Is the sound of distant d rumming just the fingers of your h and?
Pictures hanging in a h allway and the fragments of a s ong,
Half-remembered names and f aces, but to whom do they bel ong?
When you knew that it was o ver, were you suddenly aw are
That the autumn leaves were t urning to the color of her h air?
Like a circle in a s piral, like a wheel within a w heel,
Never ending or beg inning on an ever spinning r eel,
As the images unw ind, like the circles that you f ind
In the windmills of your m ind.
(Ad libitum)