Aqualung 歌词

	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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