Sitting on a park bench -- eyeing 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 panties run. Hey, aqualung Feeling like a dead duck -- spitting out pieces of his broken luck. Oh/Hey, 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's up the road salvation a 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. Sun streaking cold -- an old man wandering lonely. Takin