/ J /Jethro Tull / HEAVY HORSES(1978)

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SIDE ONE

... And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps


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 food-warmer
  of priest feline ancestry.
Look out, little furry folk!
*** He's the all-nighi working cat
Eats but one in every ten ***
  leaves the others on the mat.

... And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps ***
  waiting by the cellar door.
Window-box town-crier;
  birth and death registrar.
With claws that rake a furrow red ***
Licensed to mutilate.
From warm milk on a lasy day
  to dawn patrol on hungry hate
... No, The Mouse Police Never Sleeps
  climbing on the ivy.
Windy roof-top weathercock
Warm-blooded night on a cold tie.

Acres Wild


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

Come with me to the Wingled Isle ***
Nothern father's Western child
Where the dance of ages is playing still
  trough far marches of Acres Wild

I'll make love to you
  in narrow side streets
  with shuttered windows,
  crambling chimneys ***
By red bricks pointed
  with cement fingers
Falking damply from sagging shoulders.

Come with me to the meary town ***
Discos silent undertiles
  that slide from roof-tops, scatter softly
  on concrete marches of Acres Wild.

No Lullaby


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 fall.

So come out fighting with your rattle in hand.
Thrust and parry. Light
  a match to catch the devil's eye. Bring
  a cross of fire to the fight.

And let no sleep bring false relief
  from the tension of the fray.
Come wake the dead with the scream of life.
Do battle with ghosts at play.

Gather your toys at the call-to-arms
  and swing your big bear down
Upon uor necks when we come to set
  you sleeping safe and sound.

It's as well we tell no lie
  to chase the face that cries ***
And little birds can't fly
  so keep an open eye.
It's as well we tell no lie
  so I'll sing you no lullaby.

Moths


The leaded window opened
  to move the dancing candle flame
And the first Moths of summer
  suicidal came
And a new breese chattered
  in its May-bud tenderness ***
Sending water-lilies 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 ***
Creatures of the candle
  on a night-light-ride.
Dipping and wearing *** flutter
  through golden needle's eye
  in our haystack madness. Butterfly-stroking
  on a Spring-tide high.
Life's too long (as the Lemming said)
  as the candle burned and the Moths were wed.
And we'll all burn together as the wick grows higher ***
  before the candle's dead.
The leaded window opened
  to move the dancing candle flame
And the first moths of summer
  suicidal came
  to join in worship
  of the light that never dies
  in a moment's reflection
  of two Moths spinning in her eyes.

Journeyman


Spine-tinging railway sleepers
Sleepy houses lying four-square and firm
Orange beams devide the darkness
Rumbling fit to turn the waking warm.
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
  like a faithfull dog with master
  sleeping in thn draught beside the carriage door.
To each Journeyman his own home-coming
Cold supper nearing with each station stop
Frostly flaked on empty platforms
Fireside slippers waiting - Flip. Flop.

Journeyman night-tripping on the late fantastic
Too late to stop for tea at Gerrards Cross
  and hear the soft choes on the footbridge shuffle
  as the wheels turn bitting on the midnight frost.
On the late commuter special
Carriage lights that flicker, fade and die
Howling into hollow blackness
Duscy diesel shudders in full cry
Down redundant morning papers
Abandon crosswords with a cough.
Stationmaster in his wisdom
  told the guard to turn the heating off.

SIDE TWO

Rover


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 through 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 here.
So slip the chain and I'm off again ***
You'll find me everywhere. I'm a Rover.

As the robin craves the summer
  to hide his smock of red,
I need the pailow of your hair
  in which to hide my head.
I'm simple in my sadness;
  resourcefool in remorse.
Then I'm down straining at the lead ***
  holdin on a windward course.

Strip me from the bundle
  of balloons at every fair:
  colourfull and carefree ***
designed to make you stare.
And I'm lost and I'm losing
  the thread that hold me down.
And I'm up hot and rising
  in the lights of every town.

One Brown Mouse


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

Puff worm 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.

Do you wonder if I realy care for you ***
Am I just the company you keep ***
Which one of us excercises on the old treadmill ***
Who hides his head, pretending to sleep?

Smile your little smile *** take some tea with me awhile
And every day we'll turn another page.
Behind our glass we'll seet and look
  at our ever-open book ***
One Brown Mouse sitting in a cage.

Heavy Horses


Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust
An October's day, towards evening.
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the rlough
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, chasting the bone
Flies at the nostris plunder.

The Suffolk, the Clydesdale, the Persheron vie
  with the Shire on his feather floating
Hauting soft timber into the dusk
  to bed on a warm straw coating.

Heavy Horses, wore the land under me
Behind the plough gliding *** sliping and sliding free.
Now you're down to the few and there's no work to do
The traktor's on it's 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 you 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 ploug, sharing.

Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill
Up into the cold wind facing
In still 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 Horses and a tumbing 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 comming home.



Weathercock


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 snake from the blast, did you shiver through the gale?

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

Do you simply reflect changes in the pattern of the sky,
Or is it true to say the weather needs the twinkle in your eye?
Do you fight the rush of winter; do you hold snowflakes at bay,
Do you lift the dawn sun from the fields and help him on his way?

Good morning Weathercock: make this day bright.
Put us on touch with your fair winds.
Sing us softly, hum evening's songs
Point the way to better days we can share with you.