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SINGER: Jethro Tull
SONG: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 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.
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