@ALBUM: heavy.horses Author: Jethro Tull Album title: Heavy Horses @SONG: ....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 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. ....And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps waiting by the cellar door. Window-boxtown-crier; birth and death registrar. With claws that rake a furrow red Licensed to multilate. From warm milk on a lazy 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 tile. @SONG: Acres Wild 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 narrowside streets with shuttered windows, crumbling chimneys By red bricks pointed with cement fingers Flaking damply from sagging shoulders. Come with me to the weary town Discos silent under tiles that slide from roof-tops, scatter softly on concrete marches of Acres Wild. @SONG: 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 if 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 our 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. @SONG: Moths 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 mouth of Spring. Chasing shadows slipping in a magic lantern slide Creatures of the candle on a night-light-ride. Dipping and weaving flutter through the 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. @SONG: Journeyman 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 like a faithful dog with master sleeping in the draught beside the carriage door. To each Journeyman his own home-coming Cold supper nearing with each station stop Frosty flakes on empty platforms Fireside slippers waiting -- Flip. Flop. Journeyman night-tripping on the late fantasic Too late to stop for tea at Gerrards Cross and hear the soft shoes on the footbridge shuffle as the wheels turn biting on the midnight frost. On the late commuter special Carriage lights that flicker, fade and die Howling into hollow blackness Dusky 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. @SONG: 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 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. As the robin craves the summer to hide his smock of red, I need the pillow of your hair in which to hide my head. I'm simple in my sadness; resourceful in remorse. Then I'm down straining at the lead holding on a windward course. Strip me from the bundle of balloons at every fair: coluorful and carefree designed to make you stare. But I'm lost and I'm losing the thread that holds me down. And I'm up hot and rising in the lights of every town. @SONG: One Brown Mouse 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. Do you wonder if I really care for you Am I just the company you keep Which one of us exercises 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 sit and look at our ever-open book One Brown Mouse sitting in a cage. @SONG: Heavy Horses 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 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. 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 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. @SONG: 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 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. Do you simply reflect changes in the patterns of the sky, Or is it true to say the weather heeds the twinkle in your eye? Do you fight the rush of winter; do you hold snowflakes at bay, Do you life the dawn sun from the fields and help him on his way? Good morning Weathercock: make this day bright. Put us in touch with your fair winds. Sing to us softly, hum evening's song Point the way to better days we can share with you. Your request matches 1 albums and 9 songs.