Meanwhile in a Parallel

He couldn't quite believe what his days have come to
When he glanced back at the desert and the dead flies in Milan
And the way they crease like sofas crease like clowns
He was a giant with the world above
But it all came crashing down, crashing down

Crashing down

Crashing down

Now he jet sets in an atlas, taking notes, refers to Good Old Days
Looks down at a bug and whispers that old idiom for past times' sake
Walking like a cowboy but his horse is comatose
He and that horse, like bad and worse, are not so different, I suppose

And all at once, he flips the table
And he sends his pages flying
And it occurs to him he gets
The goldest-est for dying

Meanwhile in a parallel
Meanwhile in a parallel

Meanwhile in a parallel
He deliberates the hasn't been
And he too sits, makes notes, they're all
Pertaining to himself and how the
Opposite of living isn't death, it is existing
He almost grieves the loss of absence
That would've followed his persisting

In perpetual engagements
With a joke that left him laugh less
Bereft of any buoyancy
Terminating thereafter

Meanwhile in a parallel
Meanwhile in a parallel
Meanwhile in a parallel
Meanwhile in a parallel