Old Ghosts - Jethro Tull

Hair stands high on the cat’s back like

A ridge of threatening hills

Sheepdogs howl, make tracks and growl ---

Their tails hanging low

And young children falter in their games

At the altar of life’s hide-and-seek

Between tall pillars, where Sunday-night killers

In grey raincoats peek

I’ll be coming again like an old dog in pain

Blown through the eye of the hurricane

Down to the stones where old ghosts play

Misty colours unfold a backcloth cold ---

Fine tapestry of silk

I draw around me like a cloak

And soundless glide a-drifting

On eddies whirled in beech leaves furled ---

Brown and gold they fly

In the warm mesh of sunlight

Sifting now from a cloudless sky

I’ll be coming again like an old dog in pain

Blown through the eye of the hurricane

Down to the stones where old ghosts play