Aqualung

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

Goes down to a bog to warm his feet

Feeling alone the army's up the rode

Salvation a 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