Aqualung 歌词
| 歌曲 | Aqualung |
| 歌手 | Jethro Tull |
| 专辑 | Live In Montreaux 2003 |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Anderson, Anderson | |
| 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 ?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. |
| zuo ci : Anderson, Anderson | |
| 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 dogend | |
| He goes down to the bog | |
| And warms his feet. | |
| Feeling alone | |
| The army' s up the rode | |
| Salvation ? 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 deepseadiver sounds, | |
| And the flowers bloom like | |
| Madness in the spring. |
| zuò cí : Anderson, Anderson | |
| 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 dogend | |
| He goes down to the bog | |
| And warms his feet. | |
| Feeling alone | |
| The army' s up the rode | |
| Salvation ? 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 deepseadiver sounds, | |
| And the flowers bloom like | |
| Madness in the spring. |
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