The Grip of Parallel

One year to the day
Since I first met Magdalena
In the land of Helveticae
On a freak and stormy day
She had a rival woman priestess
Of an ancient red skin people
And she gave me a coin of silver
Set in Etruscan ring of gold
With the Doge and Saint Marco
and the risen Saviour facing forward
I was thirty three years old
In the grip of parallel

We were perfect in their footsteps
We were dancers to the call
With the ring of a golden promise
On that beauteous first fall

So we followed it down to Venice
To where the lion smiled upon us
Saying there your guide was minted
The way is printed on your soul
And its been worn since then
By the gaunt and thin
Wh roam the roads of the
inner landscape
They seek and seek the more
into the grip of parallel

We were perfect in their footsteps
We were dancers to the call
With the ring of a golden promise
On that beauteous first fall

We were perfect in their footsteps
We were dancers to the call
With the ring of a golden promise
On that beauteous first fall

• Written by Jimmy MacCarthy