Twenty-Five
Twenty-five wounded pedestrians,
At my door...
Twenty -five
Barely alive...
What should I do?
Call twenty-five ambulances?
Twenty-five EMS?
How'd I ever,
Get in this mess?
Why's everyone always comin'
To my door?
Has it got twenty-five
Pheromones?
Twenty-five scents?
Twenty-five invitations?
Perhaps I've gone mad
And no-one's there
I sit in my room,
And at the wall stare
Till they come to get me
Who-ever they are
If I answer the door,
They'll put my brain in a jar.
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