Michael Jackson is alive and well and living in Canada
That’s what I was told by a friend of mine who heard in on the radio
I was not so very old when Thriller hit number one
But even in my infant mind I knew the gloved one was invincible
So I could believe he was somewhere deep in North Ontario
Moonwalking with Elvis, and maybe working on brand a new show
Oh their cabin isn’t small at all, but it’s no northern Neverland
No Graceland in the woods, just a simple home with simple furnishings
Two Kings on two wooden thrones, rocking the porch away
Talking about the old days and working out the details of their comeback tour
But both of them know they’d rather stay there in their forest home
Playing Hearts by the glow of their trusty old wood stove
And Michael spins the globe and they stare at it and go
No, you’ll never see us again
No, you’ll never see us again
Oh, you never were our real friends
Ergo, you’ll never see us again
One sticky August night, it’s said, they were up past their bedtimes
Staring at the stars and drinking virgin cocktails made with ginger-ale
Elvis heard it first, a hum in the distance
It sounded like a plane, but Michael was sure that it was aliens
But suddenly, a helicopter materialized
Bright shining lights and cameras burning out of the darkened sky
There was nothing to be done, they knew, they didn’t have an alternative
So Elvis armed the switch, and MJ followed the launching protocol
The cabin was a blur of steel two kingly voices they counted down
From twenty back to one, and then the cameras captured their fading final song
No, you’ll never see us again
No, you’ll never see us again
Oh, you never were our real friends
Ergo, you’ll never see us again

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