Jethro Tull

Whenever I get to feel this way,
Try to find new words to say,
I think about the bad old days
We used to know.
Nights of winter turn me cold --
Fears of dying, getting old.
We ran the race and the race was won
By running slowly.
Could be soon well cease to sound,
Slowly upstairs, faster down.
Then to revisit stony grounds,
We used to know.