Tom Bombadil (Don Quixote, Gordon Lightfoot)

Here is an ode to that most enigmatic of Tolkien characters, Tom Bombadil, as eccentric in his own way as Don Quixote. I can't really take issue with his omission from the blockbuster trilogy, but I thought he deserved a bit of attention...

Tom Bombadil

Through the woodland, through the valley
Comes an horseman wild and free.
Plucking flowers, singing nonsense...
Who could the sprightly fellow be?

He seems young, but he is ancient.
He is wise but unaware,
Richly clothed but often naked.
Bombadil is free from care.

Reaching for a hobbit's hand,
He rescues him from Old Man Willow's grasp
And, prancing like a fairy prince,
He sings upon the mossy forest floor
Till he can sing no more,

"I have left Goldberry waiting
In our home, not far from here.
Very soon, I'll start relating
My adventures through the years.

I have ridden Fatty Lumpkin
Over hill and over dale.
Middle-earth is in a slump,
But nature's beauty will not fail.

See the rabbits in the meadow.
See the thrushes in the trees.
See the branches, steeped in shadow,
Swaying in a gentle breeze."

Reaching for a hobbit's hand,
He laughs, as giddy as a bubbling stream.
Then striking up a lordly pose,
He sings upon the mossy forest floor
Till he can sing no more,

"See the flowers timidly
Peek out to greet the rays of sun.
See the endless starry sea
That fills the sky when day is done.

See the dew that lightly rests
Upon the leaves in gleaming drops.
See the songbirds build their nests,
A joyful job that never stops.

See the berries ripe for eating.
When we get back to my lair,
We will have a happy meeting.
You will see Goldberry's hair.

Hey dol, merry dol, me laddies!
Ring dong dillo! Ring a dong!
See the world with me and Fatty,
Happy as the day is long!"

Reaching for a hobbit's hand,
He babbles, unconcerned with what he says,
And standing like a statue now,
He sings upon the mossy forest floor.

The setting sun illuminates
The verdant clothes that drape his lanky frame
As he repeats his name,
Ol' Tom Bombadil.

Through the woodland, through the valley
Comes a horseman wild and free.
Plucking flowers, singing nonsense...
Who could the sprightly fellow be?

He seems young, but he is ancient.
He is wise but unaware,
Richly clothed but often naked.
Bombadil is free from care.


Don Quixote

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...