Sitting on the park bench
eyeing little girls with bad intent
Snot is running down his nose
greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
Aqualung
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run
Aqualung
Feeling like a dead duck
spitting out pieces of his broken luck
Whoa, aqualung
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 road
salvation a la mode and
a cup of tea
Aqualung my friend
don't you start away uneasy
you poor old sod, you see, it's only me
Do you still remember
The December's foggy freeze
when the ice that
clings on to your beard was
screaming agony
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
with deep sea diver sounds
and the flowers bloom like
madness in the spring