[Here is the conversation that takes place between the Nurse and the Doctor, and eventually the Doctor and the Patient.]
[voices fading in]
[Nurse:] Excuse me? Doctor? If you have a moment?
[Doctor:] A moment? What’s the question?
[Nurse:] More of a situation, a gentleman in exam 3.
[Doctor:] What’s the problem?
[Nurse:] That is the problem, we’re not sure.
[Doctor:] You got the chart?
[Nurse:] Right here.
[Doctor:] Not much there, is there?
[Nurse:] No doctor, no obvious physical trauma. Vitals are stable.
[Doctor:] Name?
[Nurse:] No sir.
[Doctor:]
Did someone drop him off?
Maybe we could speak to them.
Let’s get some background on this fellow.
[Nurse:]
No ID. Nothing
[*heavy breathing in background*]
And he won’t speak to anybody.
[Doctor:]
Well, let’s say “Hello”.
Good morning, I’m Dr. Watson.
How are you today? How – are – you today?!
Look, son, you’re in a safe place.
We wanna help in whatever way we can.
But you need to talk to us.
We can’t help you otherwise.
What’s happened? Tell me everything.
[*growling and heavy breathing grows louder*]
Alrighty then,
picture this,
if you will
10 to 2 a.m., X, Yogi DMT and a box of Krispy Kremes
In my need-to-know post just outside of Area 51
Contemplating the whole “Chosen People” thingy
When just a flaming stealth banana split the sky
Like one would hope, but never really expect to see in a place like this
Cutting right angle donuts on a dime
And stopping right on my Birkenstocks, and me yelping
“Holy fucking shit!”
(Holy fucking shit!)
(Holy fucking shit!)
(Holy fucking shit!)
(Holy fucking shit!)
(Holy fucking shit!)
(Holy fucking shit!)
(Holy fucking shit!)
Then the X-Files being
Looking like some kind of blue-green Jackie Chan with Isabella Rossellini lips
And breath that reeked of vanilla Chig Champa
Did a slo-mo Matrix descent out of the butt-end of the banana vessel
And hovered above my bug-eyes, my gaping jaw
My sweaty L. Ron Hubbard upper lip and all I could think was
“I hope Uncle Martin here doesn’t notice that I pissed my fucking pants!”
So light in his way, like an apparition
He had me crying out
“Fuck me, it’s gotta be The Deadhead Chemistry
The blotter got right on top of me
Got me seeing E-motherfucking-T!”
And after calming me down with some
Orange slices and some fetal spooning
E.T. revealed to me his singular purpose
He said, “You are The Chosen One
The One who will deliver the message
A message of hope for those who choose to hear it
And a warning for those who do not”
Me, The Chosen One? They chose me!
And I didn’t graduate from fuckin’ high school
You better
You better
You better
You better listen
Then he looked right through me with somniferous almond eyes
Don’t even know what that means, must remember to write it down
This is so real, like the time Dave floated away
See, my heart is pounding ‘cause this shit never happens to me
Can’t breathe right now, it was so real
Like I woke up in Wonderland, all sort of terrifying
I don’t wanna be all alone when I tell this story
And can anyone tell me why you all sound like Peanuts parents?
Will I ever be coming down?
This is so real, finally, it’s my lucky day
See, my heart is racing ‘cause this shit never happens to me
Can’t breathe right now
You believe me, don’t you? Please believe what I just said
See, The Dead ain’t touring and this wasn’t all in my head
See, they took me by the hand and invited me right in
Then they showed me something, I don’t even know where to begin
Strapped down to my bed, feet cold and eyes red
I’m out of my head, am I alive, am I dead?
Can’t remember what they said
Goddamn, shit the bed!
High, high
High-igh-igh-igh-igh-igh
High-igh-igh-igh-igh-igh-igh
High, high, hallelujah
Halleluh, hallelujah, halleluh
Overwhelmed, as one would be, placed in my position
Such a heavy burden now to be The One
Born to bear and read to all the details of our ending
To write it down for all the world to see
But I forgot my pen
Shit the bed again
Typical
Strapped down in my bed, feet cold and eyes red
I’m out of my head, am I alive, am I dead?
Sunkist and Sudafed, gyroscopes and infrared
Won’t help, I’m braindead, can’t remember what they said
Goddamn, shit the bed!
I can’t remember what they said to me
Can’t remember what they said to make me out to be a hero
(Can’t remember what they said)
Bob, help me
(Can’t remember what they said)
Don’t know, won’t know
Don’t know, won’t know
Don’t know, won’t know
Don’t know, won’t know
Don’t know, won’t know
Don’t know, won’t know
Don’t know, won’t know
Don’t know, won’t know
Don’t know, won’t know
Don’t know, won’t know
Don’t know, won’t know
Don’t know, won’t know
Goddamn, shit the bed!
Written by: Justin Gunner Chancellor, Maynard James Keenan, Adam Thomas Jones, Daniel Edwin Carey
Album: 10,000 Days
Released: 2006
There is something about reading these lyrics like poetry...They are poetry, of course, but in a familiar poetic setting like a Substack posting. I've sung these songs for decades but when I read them word-for-word like we do here, a deeper intimacy develops I haven't quite felt before.
Lololol.