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 there's no work to do
The tractor is on its way
Let me find you a filly
for your proud stallion seed
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
Your 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
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 horseman's cry
Yeah 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 there's 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 your down to the few
and there's 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 your down to the few
and there's 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.
and now your down to the few...