Heavy Horses

Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust, an October's day towards evening
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough, salt on a deep chest, seasoning
Last of the line at an honest day's 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
Now, you're down to the few and there's no work to do
The tractor's on its way

Let me find you a filly for your proud stallion seed to keep the old line going
And we'll stand you abreast at the back of the woods behind the young trees growing
To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth - you're eighteen hands at the shoulder
And one day when the oil barons have all dripped dry and the nights are seen to draw colder
They'll beg for your strength, your gentle power, your noble grace and your bearing
And you'll 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
Now, you're down to the few and there's no work to do
The tractor's 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 wood, 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
To wake the dying city with the living horseman's 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, an October's day towards evening
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough, salt on a deep chest, seasoning
Bring me a wheel of oaken wood, a rein of polished leather
A heavy horse and a tumbling sky, brewing heavy weather

Heavy horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free
Now, you're down to the few and there's no work to do
The tractor's on its way
Heavy horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free
Now, you're down to the few and there's no work to do
The tractor's on its way
Heavy horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free
Now, you're down to the few and there's no work to do
The tractor's on its way
Heavy horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free