Em        C             D            G  
Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust  
      C       D           Dsus4  G  
An October's day, towards evening  
Em              C             D            G  
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough  
  C       D           Dsus4  G  
Salt on a deep chest seasoning  
Em        C             D            G  
Last of the line at an honest day's toil  
C       D           Dsus4  G  
Turning the deep sod  under  
Em        C             D            G  
Flint at the fetlock, chasing the bone  
C       D            Dsus4  G  
Flies at the nostrils plunder.  
      C           D              G           C  
The Suffolk, the Clydesdale, the Percheron vie  
           Am             D      Dsus4  Em  
  with the Shire on his feathers floating  
 C           D     G           C  
Hauling soft timber into the dusk  
    C       D            Dsus4  G  
  to bed on a warm straw coating.  
F#7  Bm    G Bm        G            A  
Heavy Horses, move the land under me  
F#7  Bm                   G Bm              G           A  
  Behind the plough gliding --- slipping and sliding free  
F#7         G           D  
Now you're down to the few  
            Bb          F  
And there's no work to do  
          C  Em        D  Bm  
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.