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