THIN HORSES.

See me, the saint of the sloping lead No feed for beggar's horses I'm all blood, son, but I still bleed Beware the forks and torches Son, beware the man Who only lives to win It breaks a strong boy's spine To carry big men like them Build bridges in your homes Leave lights out on your porches Through the field, there's a road That walks a thousand thin horses Beware the ones who name the sins Their hearses often golden Beware the forks and torches, son And the hands that hold them Son, beware the man Who only lives to win It breaks a strong boy's spine To carry big men like them Build bridges in your homes Leave lights out on your porches Through the field, there's a road That walks a thousand thin horses Build bridges in your homes Leave lights out on your porches Through the field, there's a road That walks a thousand thin horses