They say Ah left ma prints oan ceilin' beams, Tip-tae tappin’ in a haunttit tune. The gless licht swings in eldritch dreams — Aiblins it kens Ah come at noon. Pit oan yer shadda shuin, ma jo, Let’s tirl across yon velvet mirk. The trumpet greets, the mirror’s loe — We’re swingin’ whaur the ghaists dae wirk. Ma reid mou’s left its kiss in air, A smirr o’ lips ye cannae thole. We scat wi shaddaes sleekit-fair — But nae ane sees us dancin’ droll. Pit oan yer shadda shuin, ma jo, Let’s skirl aboot the candle’s bloom. We harnonize in time askew— A jaaz that climbs frae ben the tomb.
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