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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
Goes down to a bog to warm 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
Writer(s): Ian Scott Anderson, Jenny Anderson
Copyright: The Ian Anderson Group Of Companies Ltd., Chrysalis Music Ltd.
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