Sitting on a park bench
eyeing little girls with bad intent.
Snot 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, oh 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