Man With No Soul

Man With No Soul; Untouchable.

The reaper grips your soul in the palm of his hand, 

You shrug off the deathly cold that burns you, 

The pain is etched into your destiny, 

Untouchable. 

 

You know that you'll die alone on a dirt track, 

Millions of feet have followed and worn down, 

Don't you ever wonder what the other path is like?

The one that looked harder to follow. Don't you?

 

You chose your fork in the path and stuck to it. 

Yet you know you could change. Only if you tried. 

The problem is you like the material things.

You know that once you're dead, you're dead. 

 

You cannot enjoy the flavor of these fine wines, 

Or taste the lush, red lips of a young woman, 

You cannot laugh heartily over a glass of spirits, 

Or smoke a fine, robust, expensive Cuban cigar.

 

So while you live you chose the path of drinking, 

Abusing drugs, corporate swindling and money. 

You choose power because power has fun, 

Fun is good for a man who sold his very soul, 

 

To pay for the diamonds that he gave to a girl, 

Who meant nothing but a quick f**k to him. 

And sadly you've grown old, and weary of yourself, 

You start to notice the things you've done, 

 

They begin to haunt your dreams when you sleep, 

Crime doesn't pay, so watch your back. 

The beast will come for you, too much, too soon. 

You are an old man now at the age of fourty five, 

 

No more do they want you. You're old news, wasted,

The girls move on to the new, young gentlemen, 

And leave you alone with a cigar and a bottle. 

Was it all worth it? Selling your soul? 

 

Yes you answer, 

It was the only life you'd known. 

So yes you say, 

 

"It was worth it all."

Says the man with no soul.