Tytuł: Old Ghosts

• Wykonawca: Jethro Tull
• Wyświetleń: 266

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.
  
  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.