Текст песни Old Ghosts

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 -

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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