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?