作词 : Anderson, Anderson
Sitting on a park bench --
 aqualung
 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.
 Jethro Tull
 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 --
 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.