Aqualung

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 à 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.

Who would be a poor man, a beggarman, a thief

if he had a rich man in his hand.

And who would steal the candy

from a laughing baby's mouth

if he could take it from the money man.

Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again.

She signs no contract

but she always plays the game.

Dines in Hampstead village

on expense accounted gruel,

and the jack-knife barber drops her off at school.



Laughing in the playground - gets no kicks from little boys:

would rather make it with a letching grey.

Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung,

who watches through the railings as they play.

Cross-eyed Mary finds it hard to get along.

She's a poor man's rich girl

and she'll do it for a song.

She's a rich man stealer

but her favour's good and strong:

She's the Robin Hood of Highgate

helps the poor man get along.

On Preston platform

do your soft shoe shuffle dance.

Brush away the cigarette ash that's

falling down your pants.

And you sadly wonder

does the nurse treat your old man

the way she should.

She made you tea,

asked for your autograph

what a laugh.

As I did walk by Hampstead Fair

I came upon Mother Goose - so I turned her loose

she was screaming.

And a foreign student said to me

was it really true there are elephants and lions too

in Piccadilly Circus?



Walked down by the bathing pond

to try and catch some sun.

Saw at least a hundred schoolgirls sobbing

into hankerchiefs as one.

I don't believe they knew

I was a schoolboy.



And a bearded lady said to me

if you start your raving and your misbehaving

you'll be sorry.

Then the chicken-fancier came to play

with his long red beard (and his sister's weird:

she drives a lorry).



Laughed down by the putting green

I popped `em in their holes.

Four and twenty labourers were labouring

digging up their gold.

I don't believe they knew

that I was Long John Silver.



Saw Johnny Scarecrow make his rounds

in his jet-black mac (which he won't give back)

stole it from a snow man.

Wond'ring aloud

how we feel today.

Last night sipped the sunset

my hands in her hair.

We are our own saviours

as we start both our hearts beating life

into each other.



Wond'ring aloud

will the years treat us well.

As she floats in the kitchen,

I'm tasting the smell

of toast as the butter runs.

Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed

and I shake my head.

And it's only the giving

that makes you what you are.

Take you to the cinema

and leave you in a Wimpy Bar

you tell me that we've gone to far

come running up to me.

Make the scene at Cousin Jack's

leave him put the bottles back

mends his glasses that I cracked

well that one's up to me.

Buy a silver cloud to ride

pack the tennis club inside

trouser cuffs hung far too wide

well it was up to me.

Tyres down on your bicicle

your nose feels like an icicle

the yellow fingered smoky girl

is looking up to me.

Well I'm a common working man

with a half of bitter - bread and jam

and if it pleases me I'll put one on you man

when the copper fades away.

The rainy season comes to pass

the day-glo pirate sinks at last

and if I laughed a bit to fast.

Well it was up to me.

People - what have you done

locked Him in His golden cage.

Made Him bend to your religion

Him resurrected from the grave.

He is the god of nothing

if that's all that you can see.

You are the god of everything

He's inside you and me.

So lean upon Him gently

and don't call on Him to save you

from your social graces

and the sins you used to waive.

The bloody Church of England

in chains of history

requests your earthly presence at

the vicarage for tea.

And the graven image you-know-who

with His plastic crucifix

he's got him fixed

confuses me as to who and where and why

as to how he gets his kicks.

Confessing to the endless sin

the endless whining sounds.

You'll be praying till next Thursday to

all the gods that you can count.

Oh father high in heaven - smile down upon your son

whose busy with his money games - his women and his gun.

Oh Jesus save me!

And the unsung Western hero killed an Indian or three

and made his name in Hollywood

to set the white man free.

Oh Jesus save me!

If Jesus saves - well, He'd better save Himself

from the gory glory seekers who use His name in death.

Oh Jesus save me!

I saw him in the city and on the mountains of the moon

His cross was rather bloody

He could hardly roll His stone.

Oh Jesus save me!

Well the lush separation unfolds you

and the products of wealth

push you along on the bow wave

of the spiritless undying selves.

And you press on God's waiter your last dime

as he hands you the bill.

And you spin in the slipstream

timeless -  unreasoning

paddle right out of the mess.

In the shuffling madess

of the locomotive breath,

runs the all-time loser,

headlong to his death.

He feels the piston scraping

steam breaking on his brow

old Charlie stole the handle and

the train won't stop going

no way to slow down.



He sees his children jumping off

at the stations - one by one.

His woman and his best friend

in bed and having fun.

He's crawling down the corridor

on his hands and knees

old Charlie stole the handle and

the train won't stop going

no way to slow down.



He hears the silence howling

catches angels as they fall.

And the all-time winner

has got him by the balls.

He picks up Gideons Bible

open at page one

old Charlie stole the handle and

the train won't stop going

no way to slow down.

When I was young and they packed me off to school

and taught me how not to play the game,

I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,

or if they said that I was a fool.

So I left there in the morning

with their God tucked underneath my arm

their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.

So I asked this God a question

and by way of firm reply,

He said - I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.

So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):

before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers

I don't believe you:

you had the whole damn thing all wrong

He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.

Well you can excomunicate me on my way to Sunday school

and have all the bishops harmonize these lines

how do you dare tell me that I'm my Father's son

when that was just an accident of Birth.

I'd rather look around me - compose a better song

`cos that's the honest measure of my worth.

In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me,

as you lick the boots of death born out of fear.

I don't believe you:

you had the whole damn thing all wrong

He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.