I begged 'em not to buy a dishwashing machine;

us obsessive-compulsives need stuff we can clean.

But Computer said yes and so the nursing team

are gathered around to see the lights turn green.

 

"It does plates and bowls and forks and knives,

it'll revolutionise our lives.

We won't have to lift a finger,

we can sit down and watch Jerry Springer.

We can watch chat-shows, game-shows, quizzes,

we can do anything 'cept the dishes."

 

In the dining room with the brand new floor

that's slightly higher than it was before,

above the door a sign directs

Beware of the Unexpected Steps.

I did a foxtrot and I did a fan-dance,

I did the polka and I did the can-can,

I did me a jive, a jig and a twist,

now I've gotta see The Psychiatrist.

 

She sat down next to me on the couch,

took out a needle and I said "Ouch!"

She says, "Don't be shy or play hard to get,

tell me about the unexpected steps!

What do you mean by these different dances,

the big moves back and the small advances?

Do you hear voices? Do you see visions?

Tell me if you have any strong suspicions!"

She hitched up her skirt, cupped her jaw,

and ticked off the box marked Build a Rapport.

 

In the best interest of my mental hygiene

I told her about the dishwashing machine,

the TV and Computer that worked in conjunction

to disable every human function.

"Ah, so you have a functional psychosis!"

She laughed like a dog, it was then I noticed

how handsome she looked in a certain light.

 

"Do you wanna hear the dream that I had last night?

I dreamt I saw Jesus when his time was brief,

nailed to the cross in lieu of a thief,

imploring the Lord "Take this cup from my lips!"

but his pleas were ignored, seemed like Jesus had his chips

until a giant hand swooped down upon the scene,

took the cup and threw it in the dishwashing machine!

I woke from the dream where I'd been immersed

with pins and needles and a raging thirst."

 

I glanced at her slyly, her eyes grown wide,

she said, "That's a bad dream, you're very paranoid,

you've a Messiah Complex and you're grandiose,

I think a mental breakdown could be rather close.

You've a morbid fear of technology,

and are needing treatment that's compulsory."

I begged for mercy, she exclaimed "Well, okay,

if you teach me how to dance the unexpected way."

 

So we polkaed and waltzed, we jived and twisted,

we broke off in the jig because I insisted.

She ain't a bad mover, I guess, for a shrink,

but my legs were numb and I required a drink.

She says, "I'll go get you some Chlorpromazine!"

and pulled a cup from her dishwashing machine.

 

I don't figure I'll be back there for a while,

unless washing by hand becomes the new style.

The shrink's convinced that I'm in denial,

like Pontius Pilate at that old-time trial:

"Come see me some time", she says, "finish your cup!"

She's learnt fresh steps, she says the jig is up.

She urges me to forget the Retro,

but I shall never dance to Techno.