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

Who would be a poor man
A beggar man, 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
She dines in Hampstead village
On expense accounted gruel
And the jack-knife barber drops her off at school

Hey, laughing in the playground
Gets no kicks from little boys
Would rather make it with a letching gray, yeah
Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung
Who watches through the railings as they play

Hey, 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, hey

Laughing in the playground
Gets no kicks from little boys
Would rather make it with a letching gray, yeah
Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung
Who watches through the railings as they play

Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again
She signs no contract
But she always plays the game
She dines in Hampstead village
On expense accounted gruel
And the jack-knife barber drops her off at school

Hey, cross-eyed Mary, oh baby, oh, cross-eyed Mary

On Preston platform
Do your soft shoe shuffle dance
Brush away the cigarette ash
That's falling down your pants

And then 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
Must have been a hundred schoolgirls
Sobbing into handkerchiefs 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

And a 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 laborers were laboring
Digging up their gold

I don't believe they knew
That I was Long John Silver

Saw Johnny Scarecrow make his rounds
With his jet black Mac
Which he won't give back, stole it from a snow man

As I did walk by Hampstead Fair
I came upon Mother Goose
So I turned her loose, she was screaming, oh

Ooh yeah

Wond'ring aloud
How we feel today
Last night sipped the sunset
My hand in her hair

We are our own saviors
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

Okay, this is up to me
One, two, three, four

Take you to the cinema
And leave you in a Wimpy Bar
You tell me that we've gone too far
Come running up to me

Make the scene at Cousin Jack's
Leave him to put the bottles back
Mends his glasses that I cracked
Well that one's up to me, yeah

Buy a silver cloud to ride
Pack the tennis club inside
Trouser cuffs hung far too wide
It was up to me

Tyres down on your bicycle
Your nose feels like an icicle
The yellow fingered smoky girl
Is looking up to me, yeah

Oh, you know it's up to me girl
Oh it's 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, yeah yeah

Oh, you know it's up to me, yeah
It's up to me

The rainy season comes to pass
The day-glo pirate sinks at last
And if I laughed a bit too fast
Well it was up to me

Take you to the cinema
And leave you in a Wimpy Bar
You tell me that we've gone too far
Come running up to me, yeah

Oh, you know it's up to me, yeah
Oh, it's up to me, oh

People, what have you done?
Locked him in his golden cage, golden cage
Made him bend to your religion
Him resurrected from the grave, 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, 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, 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, hey, hey
Who's busy with his money games, oh
His women and his gun
Lord Jesus save me

And the unsung western hero
He killed an Indian or three, ey hey
And then he made his name in Hollywood, oh
To set the white man free
Lord Jesus save me

If Jesus saves
Well, He'd better save Himself
From the gory glory seekers
Who use His name in death
Woh, Jesus hear me

If Jesus saves
Well, He'd better save Himself
From the gory glory seekers
Who use His name in death, baby
Woh, Jesus save me, hey

Well, I saw him in the city
And on the mountains of the moon, hey, hey
His cross was rather bloody, oh
He could hardly roll His stone
And Jesus save me, hey

Well, the lush separation enfolds 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 and you paddle right out of the mess

In the shuffling madness
Of the locomotive breath
Runs the all time loser
Headlong to his death

Oh, he feels the piston scraping
Steam breaking on his brow

Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train, it won't stop going
No way to slow down
Oh, oh

He sees his children jumping off
At stations one by one
His woman and his best friend
In bed an' having fun

Oh, he's crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees

Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train, it won't stop going
No way to slow down
Yeah, yeah

He hears the silence howling
And catches angels as they fall
And the all time winner
Has got him by the balls

Oh, he picks up Gideon's Bible
Open at page one

I thank God, he stole the handle
And the train, it won't stop going
No way to slow down

No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down
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 just 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

And 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 excommunicate 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

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 just a fool
I left there in the morning
With their God under my arm
Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules

Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
Have all the bishops harmonize these lines

When I was young and they packed me off to school
And they 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 just a fool

So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares)
Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers
Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
And have all the bishops harmonize these lines

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

I'll see you at the weighing in when your life's sum-total's made.
And you set your wealth in godly deeds against the sins you've laid.
So place your final burden on your hard-pressed next of kin:
Send the chamber pot back down the line to be filled up again.
Take your mind off your election and try to get it straight.
And don't pretend perfection: you'll be crucified too late.
And he'll say you really should make the deal as he offers round the hat.
Well, you'd better lick your fingers clean, I thank you all for that.
And as you join the good ship earth and you mingle with the dust
be sure to leave your underpants with someone you can trust.
And the hard-headed social worker who bathes his hands in blood
will welcome you with arms held high and cover you with mud.
And he'll say you really should make the deal as he offers round the hat.
Well, you'd better lick your fingers clean, well. I'll thank you all for that.

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.

Gonna lose my way tomorrow,
gonna give away my car.
I'd take you along with me,
but you would not go so far.
Don't see what I do not want to see,
you don't hear what I don't say.
Won't be what I don't want to be,
I continue in my way.

Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin' to,
I don't want to.

Everyday I see the mornin' come on in the same old way.
I tell myself tomorrow brings me things I would not dream today.

Don't want to be a fat man,
people would think that I was
just good fun.
Would rather be a thin man,
I am so glad to go on being one.
Too much to carry around with you,
no chance of finding a woman who
will love you in the morning and all the night time too.

Don't want to be a fat man,
have not the patience to ignore all that.
Hate to admit to myself half of my problems
came from being fat.
Won't waste my time feeling sorry for him,
I seen the other side to being thin.
Roll us both down a mountain
and I'm sure the fat man would win.