Lyrics Heavy Horses (Live) - Jethro Tull

Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust
On October's day towards evening
Sweat-bimbo's veins standing proud to the plough
Salt on a tea-chest seasoning
Last of the line in an honest day's toil
Turning the leaves under
Flint with a fat crotch facing the bone
Flies of the goshcrows blunder
The Southdown, the Clydesdale, the Percheron vie
With a shire on his feathers floating
Haulings hopped, inverted to the dusk
To bed on a warm straw coating

Heavy horses move the land under feet
Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free
And now you're down to the field 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 wood
Behind the young trees growing
To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth
Your aging hands at the shoulder
And one day when the oil barrens have all dripped dry
And the nights perceive the draw colder
They'll beg for your strength, your gentle power
Your noble race and your bearing
And you'll strain once again to the sound of the gulls
In the wink of the deep plough sharing

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

Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill
A bend in the cold wind facing
In step, cattle harness, chained to the world
Against a lonesome 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 grass to flash the dawn
A crossly saviour's glistening
Like dew on a carpet lawn
In these dark townsfolk eyes sleeping
As the heavy horses thunder by
In the wake of a tiny city
Where the living horsemen cryAt once the old towns quicken
Ring pick and whizz 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 pimples faint standing proud of 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 at the pier 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 at the pier and there's no work to do
The tractor's on its way