Jethro Tull - Heavy Horses

Simply because it's been a bloody hard week I need to listen to some great music!

Amongst the best (in my opinion) are the legendary Jethro Tull, filmed here on tour in 1980.

I have been a fan for more years than I care to mention and remain especially keen on their output from the 1970's. So here they are with one of their finest songs 'Heavy Horses'. Please see lyrics and imagery below.

Enjoy!

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 wood 

behind the young trees growing. 

To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth, 

and 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.

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. 

The one and only Mr Ian Anderson

Heavy Horses Ploughing