Old Ghosts Lyrics

  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 in a backcloth cold -
    fine tapestry of silk
  I draw around me like a cloak
    and glide a-drifting
    on eddies whirled in beech leaves furled -
    brown and gold they fly
    through 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.