Jethro Tull — Aqualung Live

Sitting on a park bench -- Eyeing ittle 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