Sitting on the park bench,
eyeing little girls with bad intentions.
Snot running down his nose,
greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Hey Aqualung,
drying in the cold sun,
watching as the frilly panties run.
Feeling
like a dead duck,
spitting out pieces of his broken love.
Oh Aqualung.
Aqualung, my friend,
don't you start away uneasy.
I'm only three years.
Do you still remember the
December's foggy freeze?
When they iced the clings onto your beard,
it was screaming agony.
Hey,
and you snatched your rattling last
breaths with deep sea diver sounds.
And the flowers bloom like madness in the spring.
Sun streaking cold,
an old man wandering
lovely,
taking time the only way he knows.
Leg hurting bad as he bends to pick a dog
in, it goes down to the fog and warms his feet.
Oh,
feeling alone,
the armies of the road,
salvation and a cup of tea.
Aqualung,
my friend,
don't you start away uneasy.
Your poor old
side, you see, it's handed me.
Me. Oh.
Aqualung, my friend,
don't you start away uneasy.
Your poor old side, you see, it's only me.
Yeah.
Sitting on the park bench,
I'm little girls with bad intent.
Snot running down his nose,
greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Hey, Aqualung,
drying in the cold sun,
watching as the frilly paddies run.
Hey, Aqualung,
feeling like a dead duck,
spitting out feces of his broken luck.
Hey,
Aqualung.
Ow.
Whoa,
Aqualung.
Whoa, Aqualung.