Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counselors, and the most patient of teachers.
Charles W. Eliot
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The Hospital Song
Nobody sends me birthday cards
Nobody brings me flowers
I'm just here for operations
I've been out for hours
When I come to I'll wet my bed
'Cause when I get mad I sink so low
As matron knows
I get off on what you give me, darling
I get off on what you give to me
Yeah, I get off on what you give me, darling
I get off on what you give to me
And when I go to that seedy ward up in the sky
You'll be waiting with a hypodermic needle
And a graph
Here comes the dark
(I'm grateful for my anaesthetic)
Out goes the spark
(Delirious and apathetic)
When I come to I'll wet my bed
And when I get well I'll take revenge
I'll wreak my wrath
On all blood donors and their sisters
Visiting time and flowers
When sister brings that bedpan 'round
I'll piss like April showers
I get off on what you give me, darling
I get off on what you give to me
Yeah, I get off on what you give me, darling
I get off on what you give to me
I get off on what you give me, darling
I get off on what you give to me
Yeah, I get off on what you give me, darling
I get off on what you give to me
And when I go
I'll die of plaster casting love