Heavy Horses lyrics

Muscled, black with steel-green eye
swishing through the rye grass
with thoughts of mouse-and-apple pie.
Tail balancing at half-mast.
...And the mouse police never sleeps ---
lying in the cherry tree.
Savage bed foot-warmer of purest feline ancestry.
Look out, little furry folk!
He's the all-night working cat.
Eats but one in every ten ---
leaves the others on the mat.

I'll make love to you
in all good places
under black mountains
in open spaces.
By deep brown rivers
that slither darkly
through far marches
where the blue hare races.

Come with me to the Winged Isle ---
northern father's western child.
Where the dance of ages is playing still
through far marches of acres wild.

I'll make love to you
in narrow side streets
with shuttered windows,

Keep your eyes open and prick up your ears ---
rehearse your loudest cry.
There's folk out there who would do you harm
so I'll sing you no lullaby.
There's a lock on the window; there's a chain on the door:
a big dog in the hall.
But there's dragons and beasties out there in the night
to snatch you if you fall.

So come out fighting with your rattle in hand.
Thrust and parry. Light

The leaded window opened
to move the dancing candle flame
And the first Moths of summer
suicidal came.
And a new breeze chattered
in its May-bud tenderness ---
Sending water-lillies sailing
as she turned to get undressed.
And the long night awakened
and we soared on powdered wings ---
Circling our tomorrows
in the wary month of Spring.
Chasing shadows slipping
in a magic lantern slide ---

Spine-tingling railway sleepers ---
Sleepy houses lying four-square and firm
Orange beams divide the darkness
Rumbling fit to turn the waking worm.
Sliding through Victorian tunnels
where green moss oozes from the pores.
Dull echoes from the wet embankments
Battlefield allotments. Fresh open sores.

In late night commuter madness
Double-locked black briefcase on the floor

I chase your every footstep
and I follow every whim.
When you call the tune I'm ready
to strike up the battle hymn.
My lady of the meadows ---
My comber of the beach ---
You've thrown the stick for your dog's trick
but it's floating out of reach.
The long road is a rainbow and the pot of gold lies there.
So slip the chain and I'm off again ---
You'll find me everywhere. I'm a Rover.

Smile your little smile --- take some tea with me awhile.
Brush away that black cloud from your shoulder.
Twitch your whiskers. Feel that you're really real.
Another tea-time --- another day older.

Puff warm breath on your tiny hands.
You wish you were a man
who every day can turn another page.
Behind your glass you sit and look
at my ever-open book ---
One brown mouse sitting in a cage.

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

Good morning Weathercock: How did you fare last night
Did the cold wind bite you, did you face up to the fright
When the leaves spin from October
and whip around your tail
Did you shake from the blast, did you shiver through the gale

Give us direction; the best of goodwill ---
Put us in touch with fair winds.
Sing to us softly, hum evening's song ---
Tell us what the blacksmith has done for you.

The bombâs in the china. the fatâs in the fire.
Thereâs no turkey left on the table.
The commuterâs return on the six oâclock flyer
Brings no bale of hay for the stable.
Well, the light, it is failing along the green belt
As we follow the hard road signs.
Semi-detached in our suburban-ness ---
Weâre living in these hard times.