I'm gonna make it to the end. I'm gonna smoke a cigarette. The cigarette is my only friend.
I can hear my slippers a-slappin'. I can feel my gown a-flappin'. I've got my whole being set into making it to the end of the seventh floor corridor of the Grace Hospital.
These are my people. Hello Joe, how ya doin'? Don't I take good care of you, Joe?
Mrs. Bergman, how you doin'? What? No, I don't have your mail!
I'm not the friggin' mailman.
I'm going to make it to the end. And when I make it to the end I will smoke my cigarette. They make it very hard to smoke here but I've got it all figured out: they make it hard and that builds up your strength and then they want you to check out.
There's a man in traffic below. He's all revved up with nowhere to go. He's a-cursin' and a-swearin' and watchin' the rain drops roll, roll down his windshield.
He's stuck in rush hour traffic and he's sayin', "Oh I shoulda bought that farm in the country. I woulda been home by now. I woulda been milkin' cows and sloppin' pigs and sayin' benign things to my benign wife instead of sittin' here lookin' up the tail-pipe of someone I do not even know and probably wouldn't like.
And lookin' up at the face at the end of the seventh floor of the Grace Hospital."
I'm walking down the corridor of the seventh floor of the Grace Hospital. Everything's green here, like a green nightmare. They come every Thursday morning. They spend an hour in the boardroom making decisions like this, they say: "Oh yes. Green like the grass! Like the trees! That'll make everyone brighten up and feel so happy, make 'em feel so pleased!"
Well, I'm so pleased that when I get out of here I'm gonna write fuckin' greeting cards tellin' everyone how sweet it is here. Green. It just reminds everybody of their own shit and their own puke and oh, the blonde she pats her hair and she tastes aluminum chlorohydrate on her fingertips and oh ...
"Daniel!" Yes? "Would you come into the office please!"
I'm walkin' down the corridor of the Grace Hospital. I'm gonna look out at the rain, at the sweet, sweet rain ...
There's a man in traffic below...
...instead I'm sitting here in rush hour traffic lookin' up the tail pipe of someone I do not know and probably would not even like and watchin' this face at the end of the seventh floor corridor of the Grace Hospital lookin' out at the goddamn rain.
I'm walkin' down the corridor. I'm startin' to get withdrawal but I'm gonna make it to the end. I can feel my gown a-flappin' and I can hear my slippers a-slappin'. Hello Mrs. Bergman. No, I don't have the goddamn mail! And if you don't keep your dog tied up, I'm gonna have the dog catcher come. I don't care if you're ninety years old and he's sixteen and you've been together all this time. He's gonna take him away. Don't ask me for the mail. "Daniel, will you come into the office!"
I'm walking down the corridor of the Grace Hospital. Me and my bride. There's gonna be a wedding today. I'm feeling so happy inside. Oh me and my rolling bride. Here we go hand in hand, needle in arm, she is my only friend.
When I get to the end I will look out at the traffic below and I will smile sort of sweetly and tilt my head and everyone will look up and think that I'm lookin' out at the rain as if it's the sweetest thing I've ever seen.
The Grace Hospital is a terminal hospital and everybody knows that and... and maybe that's why the food's so bad and... and can I see your fucking boarding passes please... oh!
Last night someone came into my room and they took my bag of sugar water and they must have changed it for some strange potion 'cuz now I feel like I'm floatin' on some strange ocean...
There's a man in traffic...
...instead I'm sittin' here in traffic lookin' up at this white balloon at the end of a liquid string at the end of the seventh floor of the Grace Hospital. Lookin' out at the goddamn rain like it's the sweetest thing that he's ever seen.
O I'm gonna save myself...
I'm running down the corridor of the seventh floor of the Grace Hospital. Me and my family, come on everybody! We're heading down the runway. We're gonna kick this thing.
Come on Mrs. Bergman. There'll be so much mail! I'm taking off of the runway. I'm moving out into the rain.
Out into the rain.
Out into the sweet goddamn sweet goddamn rain.