Aqualung (Live)

Sitting on a park bench

Eyeing little 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 road

Salvation à 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

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