You walk into the room with your pencil in your hand,
You see someone naked and you say, "Who is that man?"
You try so hard, but you don't understand
Just what you're gonna say when you get home.
But something is happening, but you don't know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?
You sneak into the window and you say, "Is this where it is?"
Somebody points his finger at you and says, "It's his."
And you say, "What's mine?" Someone else says, "Where what is?"
You say, "Oh, my God, am I here all alone?"
Something is happening, but you don't know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?
You hand in your ticket to go see the geek,
Who 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.
Something is happening and you don't know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?
You have many contacts out there among the lumberjacks
To get you facts if someone attacks your imagination.
And no one has any respect, anyway they just expect
You to hand over your check to tax-deductible charity organizations.
The sword swallower walks up to you and he kneels,
He crosses himself and then he clicks his high heels,
And without further notice asks you how it feels
And says, "Here's your throat back. Thanks for the loan."
Something is happening and you don't know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?
You crawl into the room like a camel and you frown,
You put your eyes in your pocket and you put your nose into the ground.
There oughtta be a law against you coming around,
You got to be made to be wearing a telephone.
But something is happening and you don't know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?