"Quixotic"
--------------
A lost soul wanders,
Looking for a place to go.
Will you help him?
Asks the Man,
Who owns the poor man's soul,
Directing his question to the Man In Gold.

I cannot help him,
All I can do is look at him,
Examine his insignificance.
That is all the Man In Gold had to say,
About that poor man's soul.

You sadden me,
Exclaimed that Thing,
Who owns that poor man's soul.
I wish to treat you to a dinner,
Meat, drinks, and rolls.
Maybe then you will reconsider?
What shall you say to such?

I will join You for your dinner,
Explains the Man In Gold.
But never will You persuade me,
To take such a hold,
On this poor man's soul.
For You see,
I too am troubled,
To take care of another,
Poor man's soul as I maintenance my own...
Surely You could understand?

I understand,
No need to talk,
Said that Thing along the walk,
Who isn't of Gold but does, in fact,
Own that poor man's soul.

But now I say,
Exclaimed the Thing,
How can you deny even the possibility,
Of having a servant such as he,
To wait on You hand and foot and serve Your wish,
To the very ends of any extent?

You make your points, you ghastly Thing,
Said the Man In Gold.
But like I said many times before,
You cannot make me take this thing,
No matter what kind of happiness he'll bring.
Simply too much physical labor and maintenance to look after such a soul,
Something wonderful it might be,
But I cannot bare a hold,
On this man's poor lost soul,
Sad as it be,
Happiness he might bring me,
Everything I must turn down,
And now I offer but a frown,
To this poor man's soul.
And to You I will also,
Extend my pity upon You, you ghastly Thing,
The Thing that owns this poor man's soul.
How could You leash this soul of his,
And offer him to strangers such as myself,
Not worrying what might become of his,
Very inner working and soul?
What kind of person might You be?
Said the Man In Gold.

I now see clearly what You say,
I might tell you how saddened I am,
To learn that even such a man,
Of Your stature, tall and true,
Of all the wondrous things You do,
No matter how invincible You might seem,
I truly do wish You to dream,
Of such delights this poor man's soul,
Could bring to YOU...
Man In Gold!
But it's too late, I fear I will leave,
Needlessly offering this poor man's soul,
To anybody who might want a dinner,
Of meat, drinks and rolls.
To anybody who might be as evil,
As somebody, anything such as Myself.
I do wish You a good day, Sir,
And I might want to say one last thing,
Any curiosities I wish to bring,
To an end and tell You this one last chin whack.
Do You know of who I am?
Do You know of the things I do,
The men I kill,
No matter how true,
They might seem,
I still bring their end of dreams.
The end of days,
Harmful rays,
And everything in between.
Please let me ask You one last time,
I am also tiring from rhyme.
May I now tell you who I am?
Said that Thing who owns the poor man's soul.

You need not speak, you Thing of evil,
I am now going to bring You to an end,
I want this poor man's soul to be free,
And know that truly,
You were never his friend.

Try and stop Me,
Man In Gold.
But it's all over, the story's been told.
You know who I am,
And you will not stop me.
I am Jesus Christ, and from the cross,
I will show you who's the Boss.

Man In Gold,
I say one truly last thing to you...
I own souls nationwide,
You cannot stop me,
No matter how hard You've tried.
I rest in England, fly to Spain,
I'll go America if it is You,
Who I've slain.
I will bring You to an end,
Man In Gold,
No matter what you do bring,
Just know now that I am a thing,
I'm everywhere, I'm omnipresent,
But You, Sir, are just a peasant...

Just then the Man In Gold,
Steps towards this Thing,
Who owns this poor man's soul...

You have already done My work,
I am no peasant, I am no jerk.
You've brought an end to Yourself,
By admitting that You're on the shelf.
You are a Thing, just a thing,
And to Your mind I will bring,
One last image for You to see,
I want You to see,
That it is me...

I am Your father,
The Man In Gold...
It is I who own You,
You dark, worthless, helpless Jew,
You cannot pawn anymore souls from Me,
They are all mine,
And I am addicted to the happiness they bring.

It's been real swell talking to you, Son,
But I fear Your end has finally come.
You've committed horrible acts,
And You just tried to stab me in the back.
Your end is here,
Son of mine,
And I wish you a due,
And a keen good-bye,
And calmly let You know now,
That is was truly You,
Who owned this poor man's soul...