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