I've hauled my boyhood master -
old Mr Television down the stairs  

Now he blinks and stammers on the pavement  
even though he's not plugged in

But someone's tapping at my window -
who is she here - who leans into my room?

Long-limbed she is and dressed in green
as the mountain-ash in summer

And I climb into her arms beneath a single star - O
Mr Television - if you could see me now!

Living with a horse in a one-bedroom flat
up five-flight of stairs could become a nightmare
one of these days we're moving out ...

And we get on fine here - the filly and I
there's enough for us to eat -
always butter for the hay

Yet though she never nags me
nor goes neighing to the neighbours
I know how she longs for a taste of summer-grass

And when at night I'm riding her
bare back around the roof-tops
we both of us are dreaming of a boundless plain