Jethro Tull, "Old Ghosts"

Misty colors 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.

Happy Friday!