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FRET
Bm
EmIron-clad Cfeather-feet pDounding the dGust
An OctCober's dDay, towards Dsus4eveningG
EmSweat embossed vCeins standing Dproud to the Gplough
SaClt on a Ddeep chest sDsus4easoninGg
EmLast of thCe line at an hDonest day's tGoil
CTurning Dthe deep sodDsus4 underG
EmFlint at tChe fetlock, chDasing the bonGe
CFlies atD the nostrilsDsus4 plundeGr.
The SuCffolk, the CDlydesdale, the GPercheron viCe
with the AmShire on his feDathers Dsus4floatinEmg
HCauling soft DtimberG into the duCsk
toC bed on Da warm straw Dsus4coatingG.
F#7HeavyBm HorseGs,Bm move the Gland under meA
F#7 BehBmind the plough glidinGg Bm--- slipping andG sliding freAe
F#7Now you're dGown to the fDew
And there's Bbno work to dFo
The tractoCr'sEm on its waDy. Bm
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.
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