You walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked and you say,
«Who is that man?»
You try so hard but you don't understand
Just what you will say when you get home
Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
You raise up your head and you ask,
«Is this where it is?»
And somebody points to you
And says, «It's his»
And you say, «What's mine?»
And somebody else says, «Well, what is?»
And you say, «Oh my God, am I here all alone?»
But something is happening
And you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
You hand in your ticket
And you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you
When he hears you speak
And says, «How does it feel to be such a freak?»
And you say, «Impossible!» as he hands you a bone
And something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
You have many contacts among the lumberjacks
To get you facts
When someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect,
Anyway they already expect you to all give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations
Ah, you've been with the professors
And they've all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
You've been through all of F. Scott Fitzgerald's books
You're very well-read, it's well-known
But something is happening here
And you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
Well, the sword swallower,
He comes up to you and then he kneels
He crosses himself and then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice, he asks you how it feels
And he says, «Here is your throat back, thanks for the loan»
And you know something is happening
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
Now, you see this one-eyed midget
Shouting the word «Now»
And you say, «For what reason?»
And he says, «How»
And you say, «What does this mean?»
And he screams back, «You're a cow!
Give me some milk or else go home»
And you know something's happening
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
Well, you walk into the room like a camel,
And then you frown
You put your eyes in your pocket
And your nose on the ground
There ought to be a law against you comin' around
You should be made to wear earphones
'Cause something is happening
And you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?