[Intro] Last thing I remember... Headlights. Then nothing. [Verse 1] Opened my eyes by the side of a road, no ride, no wreckage, no sign where it goes. No blood on my clothes, no bruise, no break, something felt wrong in the way I felt okay. ARRIVALS left, DEPARTURES right, straight says ADMINISTRATION under one white light. Walk back a mile, somehow circle the route, same three signs like the road spit me out. Building ahead, door open tonight, like somebody knew I'd be arriving on time. No explanation, just words on the wall: PLEASE TAKE A NUMBER. For what? [Chorus] TAKE A NUMBER, HAVE A SEAT, someone will be with you eventually. Don't ask where you are, don't ask what this means, wait till you're called, then quietly leave. Ticket in my palm says eighty-four. Board on the wall says... three. [Verse 2] Three became four, four became five, counting the calls while I'm counting my time. Old guy beside me, ask how long he's been, "Couldn't tell you," with a little grin. Lady got nine in a white-knuckle grip, board clicks nine, she starts losing it. Door opens wide, they call her inside, never comes back through the opposite side. Ten, eleven, twelve, nobody returns. "Where the hell are they going?" Old man turns. "Interesting choice of words." What? [Verse 3] Need verification, designation, somebody state my destination. Vague information, saint-level patience, grave implications in administration. No ventilation, I'm pacing in place, blank expressions on everyone's face. Funny they call this a waiting room, I'm dying for somebody's attention today. Ring reception twice. "Please refrain from repeatedly ringing the bell." OH, SO SOMEBODY'S LISTENING. Who's the attendant? Who runs admissions? Address, district, jurisdiction? Turn back around, old man's missing, ticket on his chair in the same position. Eighty-four. Check mine. Eighty-four. Look around. Everybody's holding eighty-four. [Pre-Chorus] Board says eighty-one... eighty-two... eighty-three. They said my number wasn't up. "Now serving eighty-four." Guess it is now. [Chorus] DON'T TAKE THE NUMBER, DON'T TAKE THE SEAT, DON'T LET THAT OFFICE CALL YOU TO SPEAK. Everybody's next but nobody leaves, whole room waiting on the same damn three. EIGHTY-FOUR, EIGHTY-FOUR, said my number wasn't up before. Now my number's up, they're calling once more, and I'm walking through the door. [Bridge] "Full legal identity?" Where am I? "Wrong question." Am I dead? "Wrong department." She slides me a form: FINAL DESTINATION, PENDING REVIEW. How long? "Processing." Processing what? "You." And then? "Placement." Where? "Downstairs." [Verse 4] No signature given, no initials either, get me an advocate, counsel, a leader. Check your records, recollect, recheck 'em, wrongful collection, clerical error. If life's got a balance, bring out the ledger, I'll settle accounts, just define what the debt is. Where's my appeal if the ruling ain't published? Can't call it final before we've discussed it. She points to the line. "Sign." No. "Refusal doesn't alter placement." Then why need my signature? "Procedure." Of course. [Verse 5] Hit the hallway, EXIT at the junction, shoulder the doorway expecting salvation... Same intersection. Left out the entrance expecting an exit, ended up entering right where I left it. Dead set on leaving, direction deceptive, each route gets corrected like death has a preference. North, road folds, south, same building, feet keep moving but distance ain't giving. Departure denied no matter the path, can't pass on when you've already passed. ARRIVALS left. DEPARTURES right. Both put me back at the same damn sign. Machine spits paper, I don't even press it. Eighty-four. Leave it. Walk off. Something feels different. Look at my hand. Eighty-four. How am I holding this? [Breakdown] Board says three. Old man beside me. Lady holding nine. No... I've seen them. "Couldn't tell you." I didn't ask. "You will." How many times have I been here? "Couldn't tell you." I look at his ticket. Eighty-four. [Final Chorus] TAKE A NUMBER, HAVE A SEAT, someone will be with you eventually. Every way out puts you back where you started, every departure becomes an arrival. TAKE A NUMBER, WAIT YOUR TURN, funny how long eventually can be. Ticket in my palm says eighty-four. Board on the wall says... three. [Outro] Last thing I remember... Headlights. Then nothing.
