Greg!

Greg looks out his fifteenth-story window
At the bustling crowds scrambling like insects
Crawling over the carcass of the city
But he's sitting pretty
In imported cars and exclusive bars
Where they know him by name
And what a brain
Top of his class at Harvard
Rhodes scholar
And card-carrying member of Mensa
Olympic fencer
Classically handsome
With a body to put Michelangelo's David to shame

And he looks down
And he looks down
And he suddenly exclaims
My god! My god!
My skin is crawling!

Take it in stride, Greg
You certainly have the legs for it
Take it in stride, Greg
You certainly have the legs for it

Greg drinks his French-pressed coffee black
Eats his steaks rare his produce fresh-picked
His wine and Scotch of legal drinking age
And he's a sage
Quoting Kant in perfect German
And defying Zeno's paradox
With his swift mental leaps mountain-goating from Plato to Foucault
He keeps a rigorous social regimen
Behind his shiny exoskeleton
Of double-edged smiles
And polite disinterest
Unimpressed as he looks down from his personal Olympus
At the dung beetle Sisyphus trying to roll his shit uphill again

And he looks down
And he looks down
And he suddenly exclaims
My god! My god!
My eyes are bulging!

Take it in stride, Greg
You certainly have the legs for it
Take it in stride, Greg
You certainly have the legs for it

Greg listens to Strauss in surround sound
Waves of timpani break on the ceiling
No feeling in the tips of his fingers or his toes
Throbbing in his ears and a buzzing in his brain
He looks out his fifteenth-story window
At the bustling hive of mindless drones
Alone on Olympus he's the god of decay
He scrabbles on the floor
Puts out his feelers
Sheds his skin with potato peelers
Then rises to look over his domain

And he looks down
And he looks down
And he suddenly exclaims
My god! My god!
My thorax is swelling!

Take it in stride, Greg
You certainly have the legs for it
Take it in stride, Greg
You certainly have the legs for it