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.