Aqualung

Sitting on a park bench

Eyeing ittle girls with bad intent

Snot running down his nose

Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes

Drying in the cold sun

Watching as the frilly panties run

Feeling like a dead duck

Spitting out pieces of his broken luck

Sun streaking cold

An old man wandering lonely

Taking time

The only way he knows

Leg hurting bad

As he bends to pick a dog-end

He goes down to the bog

And warms his feet

Feeling alone

The army’s up the rode

Salvation la mode and

A cup of tea

Aqualung my friend

Don’t start away uneasy

You poor old sod, you see, it’s only me

Do you still remember

December’s foggy freeze

When the ice that

Clings on to your beard is

Screaming agony

And you snatch your rattling last breaths

With deep-sea-diver sounds

And the flowers bloom like

Madness in the spring