JETHRO TULL


Heavy Horses

(1978)



1. And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps 3'15
2. Acres Wild 3'25
3. No Lullaby 7'55
4. Moths 3'27
5. Journey Man 3'58
6. Rover 4'16
7. One Brown Mouse 3'23
8. Heavy Horses 9'00
9. Weathercock 4'02

Total Time: 42:41


  • Ian Anderson - Vocals, Flute, Acoustic and Ocassional Electric Guitars, Mandolin
  • Martin Barre - Electric Guitar
  • John Evans - Piano, Organ
  • Barriemore Barlow - Drums, Percussion
  • John Glascock - Bass Guitar
  • David Palmer - Portative Pipe Organ, Other Keyboards and Orchestral Arrangements

    Produced by Ian Anderson
    Engineer: Robin Black
    Front Cover Photograph: James Cotie
    With thanks to Barley and Sir Jim
    courtesy of the
    COURAGE SHIRE HORSE CENTRE.
    Back Cover Photograph: Shona Anderson

    Music and Lyrics Composed by Ian Anderson
    Additional material Martin Barre and David Palmer

    Solo Violin on "Heavy Horses" and "Across Wild" - Darryl Way

    Recorded at MAISON ROUGE STUDIO, Fulham, London. January 1978

    This Album is Dedicated To: The Highland, Welsh Mountain, Shetland, Fell, Dales, Cleveland and the other indigenous working ponies and horses of Great Britain who, however tiny or great in stature, can truly count themeselves as being amongst our HEAVY HORSES, also, Lupus, Fur, Tigger and Mistletoe and, of course, Shana and young Master James.

    - I.A.



    1. 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-box town 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.

    2. 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 narrow side streets
      with shuttered windows,
      crumbling chimneys.

      Come with me to the weary town ---
      discos silent under tiles
      that slide from roof-tops, scatter softly
      on concrete marches of acres wild.

      By red bricks pointed
      with cement fingers
      Flaking damply from sagging shoulders.

      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.

    3. 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.

    4. 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 month 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 the worship
      of the light that never dies
      in a moment's reflection
      of two moths spinning in her eyes.

    5. Journey Man

      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 Gerard's 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.

    6. 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:
      colourful 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.

    7. 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.

    8. 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.

    9. 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 lift 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.