AQUALUNG
jethro Tull
Sitting on a park bench --
eyeing little girls with bad intent.
Snot running down 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.
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 rode
salvation a la mode and
a cup of tea.
Aqualung my friend --
don't 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.
*
AQUALUNG MY FRIEND
