In Würzburg town in eighteen ninety-five,
Professor Wilhelm Röntgen worked at night,
No doctor could see a broken bone,
Unless they cut the skin to look inside,
He sent a spark into a tube of glass,
He wrapped the tube in cardboard, black and tight,
Across the room, a little screen lit up,
A secret ray was shining through the night.
Oh, I can see your bones,
Röntgen's X-ray shines right through,
It slips through skin like fog,
But bones get in its way,
They leave a shadow on the screen,
I can see your bones tonight.
He held a metal disc before the screen,
And saw the bones inside his own hand,
For weeks he tested wood and cards and books,
The rays went right through a thick book, too,
Then Anna Bertha, his wife, came to see,
She laid her hand upon a plate of glass,
The picture showed her bones and wedding ring,
She gasped to see her skeleton at last.
Oh, I can see your bones,
Röntgen's X-ray shines right through,
It slips through skin like fog,
But bones get in its way,
They leave a shadow on the screen,
I can see your bones tonight.
He named them X, for unknown rays,
Because he didn't know what they were,
He would not take a patent out,
So doctors everywhere could use them.
Today you bite a little plastic tab,
Your dentist takes a quick X-ray,
And if you ever break an arm,
The X-ray shows the doctor where.
Oh, I can see your bones,
Röntgen's X-ray shines right through,
It slips through skin like fog,
But bones get in its way,
They leave a shadow on the screen,
I can see your bones tonight.
Thank Wilhelm Röntgen for the light.
