The Wreck of a Bald Anti-Hero (The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, Gordon Lightfoot)

Another Smallville song dealing with the fascinating Lex Luthor, to the tune of Gordon Lightfoot's The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

The Wreck of a Bald Anti-Hero

The legend lives on from Metropolis on down
To the little old town they call Smallville.
Lex Luthor, it's told, was worth mountains of gold,
But he hungered for truth somethin' awful.

With a gorgeous castle and dozens of acres of land,
You would reckon that Lex would be cozy.
But he'd trade his wealth for a little more stealth,
For above all else, that guy is nosy.

He was in the dark about his good buddy Clark,
But he slowly became more suspicious.
Each time Clark acted strange, their relationship changed
Until Lex's intentions grew vicious.

Concluding their friendship, he had to pretend
That their brotherhood meant very little.
He wanted to fight, to square off against
The enigma wrapped up in a riddle.

Green Kryptonite carried a palpable threat
To the man called "super" by masses.
As soon as Lex knew, he concocted a few
Nasty plans while he wooed luscious lasses.

His dad was distant and his mother was missed,
For she died when he was a teenager.
He suffered abuse, but that's no excuse
To become an unruly rampager.

When slumber time came, the old dreams would begin,
Bringing with them strange visions and phantoms.
His father would hover - in loathing, not love;
His revulsion made Lex fear the sandman.

"I'm captain," he said, as he shivered in his bed,
"Of my destiny. Nothing to fear."
Oh, he should have abandoned his fanatical plans,
That poor wreck of a bald anti-hero.

Does anyone know where man's decency goes
When the years turn a friend to a rival?
How much must he pay at the end of the day
For his desperate quest for survival?

It might've been fate or it might've been choice -
It might've been both things together -
That caused him to turn. Is there still time yet to learn?
Is he doomed to be evil forever?

Superman soars; his purpose is clear
In the midst of his unending zoomin'.
His alien heart has been from the start
Just as wholesome as though he were human.

And on the Kent farm lives a country marm
Whose soul is so perfectly saintly,
She can still see some good in Lex where no one else could,
Be it ever so terribly faintly.

In the musty old barn where Clark used to reside
With the folks he called father and mother,
One long-gone day, he heard Lex earnestly say,
"Clark, you're better than any blood brother."

The legend lives on from Metropolis on down
To the little old town they call Smallville.
Lex Luthor, it is told, had a heart made of gold,
But his hunger for truth made him awful...