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Jethro Tull lyrics - Album: Heavy Horses [1977]
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<blockquote data-quote="Floyd" data-source="post: 451" data-attributes="member: 1"><p><strong>... And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>Muscled, black with steel - green eye</p><p>Swishing through the rye grass</p><p>with thoughts of mouse-and-apple pie</p><p>Tail balancing at half-mast.</p><p>... And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps ***</p><p>lying in the cherry tree</p><p>Savage bed food-warmer</p><p>of priest feline ancestry.</p><p>Look out, little furry folk!</p><p>*** He's the all-nighi working cat</p><p>Eats but one in every ten ***</p><p>leaves the others on the mat.</p><p></p><p>... And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps ***</p><p>waiting by the cellar door.</p><p>Window-box town-crier;</p><p>birth and death registrar.</p><p>With claws that rake a furrow red ***</p><p>Licensed to mutilate.</p><p>From warm milk on a lasy day</p><p>to dawn patrol on hungry hate</p><p>... No, The Mouse Police Never Sleeps</p><p>climbing on the ivy.</p><p>Windy roof-top weathercock</p><p>Warm-blooded night on a cold tie.</p><p><strong>Acres Wild</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>I'll make love to you</p><p>in all good places</p><p>under black mountains</p><p>in open spaces.</p><p>By beep brown rivers</p><p>that slither darkly</p><p>through far marches</p><p>where the blue hare races.</p><p></p><p>Come with me to the Wingled Isle ***</p><p>Nothern father's Western child</p><p>Where the dance of ages is playing still</p><p>trough far marches of Acres Wild</p><p></p><p>I'll make love to you</p><p>in narrow side streets</p><p>with shuttered windows,</p><p>crambling chimneys ***</p><p>By red bricks pointed</p><p>with cement fingers</p><p>Falking damply from sagging shoulders.</p><p></p><p>Come with me to the meary town ***</p><p>Discos silent undertiles</p><p>that slide from roof-tops, scatter softly</p><p>on concrete marches of Acres Wild.</p><p><strong>No Lullaby</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>Keep your eyes open and prick up your ears -</p><p>rehearse your loudest cry.</p><p>There's folk out there who would do you harm</p><p>so I'll sing you no lullaby.</p><p>There's a lock on the window; there's a chain on the door:</p><p>a big dog in the hall.</p><p>But there's dragons and beasties out there in the night</p><p>to snatch you fall.</p><p></p><p>So come out fighting with your rattle in hand.</p><p>Thrust and parry. Light</p><p>a match to catch the devil's eye. Bring</p><p>a cross of fire to the fight.</p><p></p><p>And let no sleep bring false relief</p><p>from the tension of the fray.</p><p>Come wake the dead with the scream of life.</p><p>Do battle with ghosts at play.</p><p></p><p>Gather your toys at the call-to-arms</p><p>and swing your big bear down</p><p>Upon uor necks when we come to set</p><p>you sleeping safe and sound.</p><p></p><p>It's as well we tell no lie</p><p>to chase the face that cries ***</p><p>And little birds can't fly</p><p>so keep an open eye.</p><p>It's as well we tell no lie</p><p>so I'll sing you no lullaby.</p><p><strong>Moths</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>The leaded window opened</p><p>to move the dancing candle flame</p><p>And the first Moths of summer</p><p>suicidal came</p><p>And a new breese chattered</p><p>in its May-bud tenderness ***</p><p>Sending water-lilies sailing</p><p>as she turned to get undressed.</p><p>And the long night awakened</p><p>and we soared on powdered wings ***</p><p>Circling our tomorrows</p><p>in the wary month of Spring.</p><p>Chasing shadows slipping</p><p>in a magic lantern slide ***</p><p>Creatures of the candle</p><p>on a night-light-ride.</p><p>Dipping and wearing *** flutter</p><p>through golden needle's eye</p><p>in our haystack madness. Butterfly-stroking</p><p>on a Spring-tide high.</p><p>Life's too long (as the Lemming said)</p><p>as the candle burned and the Moths were wed.</p><p>And we'll all burn together as the wick grows higher ***</p><p>before the candle's dead.</p><p>The leaded window opened</p><p>to move the dancing candle flame</p><p>And the first moths of summer</p><p>suicidal came</p><p>to join in worship</p><p>of the light that never dies</p><p>in a moment's reflection</p><p>of two Moths spinning in her eyes.</p><p><strong>Journeyman</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>Spine-tinging railway sleepers</p><p>Sleepy houses lying four-square and firm</p><p>Orange beams devide the darkness</p><p>Rumbling fit to turn the waking warm.</p><p>Sliding through Victorian tunnels</p><p>where green moss oozes from the pores.</p><p>Dull echoes from the wet embankments ***</p><p>Battlefield allotments. Fresh open sores.</p><p></p><p>In late night commuter madness</p><p>Double-locked black briefcase on the floor</p><p>like a faithfull dog with master</p><p>sleeping in thn draught beside the carriage door.</p><p>To each Journeyman his own home-coming</p><p>Cold supper nearing with each station stop</p><p>Frostly flaked on empty platforms</p><p>Fireside slippers waiting - Flip. Flop.</p><p></p><p>Journeyman night-tripping on the late fantastic</p><p>Too late to stop for tea at Gerrards Cross</p><p>and hear the soft choes on the footbridge shuffle</p><p>as the wheels turn bitting on the midnight frost.</p><p>On the late commuter special</p><p>Carriage lights that flicker, fade and die</p><p>Howling into hollow blackness</p><p>Duscy diesel shudders in full cry</p><p>Down redundant morning papers</p><p>Abandon crosswords with a cough.</p><p>Stationmaster in his wisdom</p><p>told the guard to turn the heating off.</p><p></p><p></p><p>SIDE TWO</p><p><strong>Rover</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>I chase your every footstep</p><p>and I follow every whim.</p><p>When you call the tune I'm ready</p><p>to strike up the battle hymn.</p><p>My lady of the meadows ***</p><p>My comber of the beach ***</p><p>You've through the stick for your dog's trick</p><p>but it's floating out of reach.</p><p>The long road is a rainbow and the pot of gold lies here.</p><p>So slip the chain and I'm off again ***</p><p>You'll find me everywhere. I'm a Rover.</p><p></p><p>As the robin craves the summer</p><p>to hide his smock of red,</p><p>I need the pailow of your hair</p><p>in which to hide my head.</p><p>I'm simple in my sadness;</p><p>resourcefool in remorse.</p><p>Then I'm down straining at the lead ***</p><p>holdin on a windward course.</p><p></p><p>Strip me from the bundle</p><p>of balloons at every fair:</p><p>colourfull and carefree ***</p><p>designed to make you stare.</p><p>And I'm lost and I'm losing</p><p>the thread that hold me down.</p><p>And I'm up hot and rising</p><p>in the lights of every town.</p><p><strong>One Brown Mouse</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>Smile your little smile *** take some tea with me awhile.</p><p>Brush away that black cloud from your shoulder.</p><p>Twich your whiskers. Feel that you're realy real.</p><p>Another tea-time *** another day older.</p><p></p><p>Puff worm breath on your tiny hands.</p><p>You wish you were a man</p><p>who every day can turn another page.</p><p>Behind your glass you sit and look</p><p>at my ever-open book ***</p><p>One Brown Mouse sitting in a cage.</p><p></p><p>Do you wonder if I realy care for you ***</p><p>Am I just the company you keep ***</p><p>Which one of us excercises on the old treadmill ***</p><p>Who hides his head, pretending to sleep?</p><p></p><p>Smile your little smile *** take some tea with me awhile</p><p>And every day we'll turn another page.</p><p>Behind our glass we'll seet and look</p><p>at our ever-open book ***</p><p>One Brown Mouse sitting in a cage.</p><p><strong>Heavy Horses</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust</p><p>An October's day, towards evening.</p><p>Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the rlough</p><p>Salt on a deep chest seasoning.</p><p>Last of the line at an honest day's toil</p><p>Turning the deep sod under.</p><p>Flint at the fetlock, chasting the bone</p><p>Flies at the nostris plunder.</p><p></p><p>The Suffolk, the Clydesdale, the Persheron vie</p><p>with the Shire on his feather floating</p><p>Hauting soft timber into the dusk</p><p>to bed on a warm straw coating.</p><p></p><p>Heavy Horses, wore the land under me</p><p>Behind the plough gliding *** sliping and sliding free.</p><p>Now you're down to the few and there's no work to do</p><p>The traktor's on it's way.</p><p></p><p>Let me find you a filly for your proud stallion seed</p><p>To keep the old line going.</p><p>And we'll stand you abreast at the back of the wood</p><p>Behind the young trees growing</p><p>To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth,</p><p>and you eighteen hands at the shoulder</p><p>And one day when the oil barons have all dripped dry</p><p>and the nights are seen to draw colder</p><p>They'll beg for your strength, your gentle power</p><p>your noble grace and your bearing</p><p>And you'll strain once again to the sound of the gulls</p><p>in the wake of the deep ploug, sharing.</p><p></p><p>Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill</p><p>Up into the cold wind facing</p><p>In still battle harness, chained to the world</p><p>Against the low sun racing.</p><p></p><p>Bring me a wheel of oaken wood</p><p>A rein of polished leather</p><p>A Heavy Horses and a tumbing sky</p><p>Brewing heavy weather.</p><p></p><p>Bring a song for the evening</p><p>Clean brass to flash the dawn</p><p>across these acres glistening</p><p>like dew on a carpet lawn.</p><p>In these dark towns folk lie sleeping</p><p>as the Heavy Horses thunder by</p><p>to wake the dying city</p><p>with the living horseman's cry</p><p>At once the old hands quicken ***</p><p>bring pick and wisp and curry comb ***</p><p>thrill to the sound of all</p><p>the Heavy Horses comming home.</p><p><strong>Weathercock</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>Good morning Weathercock: how did you fare last night</p><p>Did the cold wind bite you, did you face up to the fright</p><p>When the leaves spin from October and whip around your tail</p><p>Did you snake from the blast, did you shiver through the gale?</p><p></p><p>Give us direction; the best of goodwill ***</p><p>Put us in touch with fair winds.</p><p>Sing us to softly, hum evening's song ***</p><p>Tell us what the blacksmith has done for you.</p><p></p><p>Do you simply reflect changes in the pattern of the sky,</p><p>Or is it true to say the weather needs the twinkle in your eye?</p><p>Do you fight the rush of winter; do you hold snowflakes at bay,</p><p>Do you lift the dawn sun from the fields and help him on his way?</p><p></p><p>Good morning Weathercock: make this day bright.</p><p>Put us on touch with your fair winds.</p><p>Sing us softly, hum evening's songs</p><p>Point the way to better days we can share with you.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Floyd, post: 451, member: 1"] [B]... And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps[/B] 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. [B]Acres Wild[/B] 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. [B]No Lullaby[/B] 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. [B]Moths[/B] 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. [B]Journeyman[/B] 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 [B]Rover[/B] 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. [B]One Brown Mouse[/B] 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. [B]Heavy Horses[/B] 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. [B]Weathercock[/B] 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. [/QUOTE]
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Jethro Tull lyrics - Album: Heavy Horses [1977]
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