Out across the cold grey fields
Like a monument to the damned
He ploughs the fields and scatters
The good seed on the land
And in the evening when the sun goes down
And the whole world is asleep
He carries on with one last shift
To earn his mind some peace

He suffers all the taunts and jibes
Of the cruel ploughboy lads
As they idle all their time away
Though there's money to be had
He carries on regardless
Though his back is bruised and sore
His heart beats faster than a train
And his lungs are clogged and slow

This old workhorse will work 'til he drops
When his work is all done, he refuses to stop
When he's put out to pasture will he finally be free
Will his body and mind at last feel relief

He no longer heeds the danger signs
He no longer hears the warning chimes
Deaf, dumb and blind, just the straight line ahead
Driving him on 'til he drops down dead

Out across the cold grey fields
Like a monument to the damned
He ploughs the fields and scatters
The good seed on the land
And in the evening when the sun goes down
And the whole world is asleep
He carries on with one last shift
To earn his mind some peace 

This old workhorse will work 'til he drops
When his work is all done, he refuses to stop
When he's put out to pasture will he finally be free
Will his body and mind at last feel relief

Now who will hold him close and weep
In their deepest thoughts his love to keep
And ease his body from dusk 'til dawn
This self-made martyr with his crown of thorns

(Gary Miller)

© 1996 Whippet Records

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