Heavy Horses (2 вариант)

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INTRO 
 
CAPO 3 FRET 
 
Bm 
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. 

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