I never realised just how much I was living the life of  Ian Anderson and Jethro Tull.

Its almost as this wee ditty was written in some psychic realm for me. I have highlighted some of the words that seem to make more sense than others right now.
I got this photo tonight posted to me on facebook from my February in Port Elizabeth.  I think this was my first night out after the accident.  I must say I had a bloody good time.  So I’m not feeling sorry for myself when I highlight the text below.  I’m rather celebrating life.  Its pretty precious stuff unless you don’t want it.  I do I doo  I doooo.
Thanks to Caleb and Amy and Stacey-Leigh for that sweet weekend of uplifting adventure.

Fiddlydee fiddlydeeedoo...I can play the leg flute like I was born with it.

Aqualung

Sitting on a park bench
eyeing up 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
Decembers 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.

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