Jethro Tull Follow

Sitting on a park bench -
eyeing little girls with bad intent.
Snot running 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.

Chorus
Sun streaking cold -
on an old man wondering 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.

Chorus

Aqualung my friend - don't you start away uneasy
you poor old sod, you see, it's only me.

Sitting on a park bench -
eyeing little girls with bad intent.
Snot running 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.