Текст: Jethro Tull. Heavy Horses (Edited Version).

Iron-clad feather feet pounding the dust
On 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
And 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 woods
Behind the young trees growing

To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth
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

Heavy horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free
And now you're down to the few, and there's no work to do
The tractor's on its way

Now the heavy horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free
And now you're down to the few, and there's no work to do
The tractor's on its way

Now the heavy horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free