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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=78736" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Heavy Horses</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heavy horses<br>By jethro tull<br>Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust<br>On octobers day, towards evening<br>Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough<br>Salt on a deep chest, seasoning<br>Last of the line at an honest days toil<br>Turning the deep sod under<br>Flint at the fetlock, chasing the bone<br>Flies at the nostrils plunder.<br>The suffolk, the clydesdale, the percheron vie<br>With the shire on his feathers floating<br>Hauling soft timber into the dusk<br>To bed on a warm straw coating.<br>Heavy horses, move the land under me<br>Behind the plough gliding --- slipping and sliding free<br>Now youre down to the few<br>And theres no work to do<br>The tractors on its way.<br>Let me find you a filly for your proud stallion seed<br>To keep the old line going.<br>And well stand you abreast at the back of the woods<br>Behind the young trees growing<br>To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth,<br>Youre eighteen hands at the shoulder<br>And one day when the oil barons have all dripped dry<br>And the nights are seen to draw colder<br>Theyll beg for your strength, your gentle power<br>Your noble grace and your bearing<br>And youll strain once again to the sound of the gulls<br>In the wake of the deep plough, sharing.<br>Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill<br>Up into the cold wind facing<br>In stiff battle harness, chained to the world<br>Against the low sun racing<br>Bring me a wheel of oaken wood<br>A rein of polished leather<br>A heavy horse and a tumbling sky<br>Brewing heavy weather.<br>Bring a song for the evening<br>Clean brass to flash the dawn<br>Across these acres glistening<br>Like dew on a carpet lawn<br>In these dark towns folk lie sleeping<br>As the heavy horses thunder by<br>To wake the dying city<br>With the living horsemans cry<br>At once the old hands quicken ---<br>Bring pick and wisp and curry comb ---<br>Thrill to the sound of all<br>The heavy horses coming home.<br>Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust<br>On octobers day, towards evening<br>Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough<br>Salt on a deep chest, seasoning<br>Bring me a wheel of oaken wood<br>A rein of polished leather<br>A heavy horse and a tumbling sky<br>Brewing heavy weather.<br>Heavy horses, move the land under me<br>Behind the plough gliding --- slipping and sliding free<br>Now youre down to the few<br>And theres no work to do<br>The tractors on its way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />song performed by by Jethro Tull - <i><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/" target=_blank></a></i><div class=q>
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By jethro tull
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 un..."></div>
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