Iron-clad, feather-feet pounding the dust On Octobers day, towards evening Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough Salt on a deep chest, seasoning Last of the line at an honest days toil Turning the deep sod under Flint at the fetlock, chasing the bone Flies at the nostrils plunder The Suffolk, the Clydesdale, the Percheron vie With the shire on his feathers, floating Hauling soft timber into the dusk To bed on a warm straw coating Heavy horses move the land under me Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free And now youre down to the few and theres no work to do The tractors on its way Let me find you a filly for your proud stallion seeds To keep the old line going And well stand you abreast at the back of the woods Behind the young trees growing To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth Youre eighteen hands at the shoulder And one day when the oil barons have all dripped dry And the nights are seen to draw colder Theyll beg for your strength, your gentle power Your noble grace and your bearing And youll strain once again to the sound of the gulls In the wake of the deep plough, sharing Heavy horses move the land under me Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free And now youre down to the few and theres no work to do The tractors on its way Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill Up into the cold wind facing In stiff battle harness, chained to the world Against the low sun racing Bring me a wheel of oaken woods A rein of polished leather A heavy horse and a tumbling sky Brewing heavy weather Bring a song for the evening Clean brass to flash the dawn Across these acres glistening Like dew on a carpet lawn In these dark towns, folk lie sleeping As the heavy horses thunder by So wake the dying city With the living horsemans cry At once the old hands quicken Bring pick and wisp and curry comb Thrill to the sound of all the Heavy horses coming home Iron-clad, feather-feet pounding the dust On Octobers day, towards evening Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough Salt on a deep chest, seasoning Bring me a wheel of oaken woods A rein of polished leather A heavy horse and the tumbling sky Brewing heavy weather Heavy horses move the land under me Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free And now youre down to the few and theres no work to do The tractors on its way Oh, heavy horses move the land under me Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free And now youre down to the few and theres no work to do The tractors on its way Oh, heavy horses move the land under me Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free And now youre down to the few and theres no work to do The tractors on its way Now heavy horses move the land under me Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free Songwriters IAN ANDERSON Read more: Jethro Tull - Heavy Horses Lyrics | MetroLyrics
Posted on: Fri, 05 Sep 2014 07:40:21 +0000
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