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'll say When you get home Because something is happening here But you don't know what it is Do you, Mister 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, "Where what is?" And you say, "Oh my God Am I here all alone?" Because something is happening here But you don't know what it is Do you, Mister 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 Because something is happening here But you don't know what it is Do you, Mister 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 just give a check To tax-deductible charity organizations 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 Because something is happening here But you don't know what it is Do you, Mister 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" Because something is happening here But you don't know what it is Do you, Mister 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" Because something is happening here But you don't know what it is Do you, Mister 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 Because something is happening here But you don't know what it is Do you, Mister Jones?