Lyrics

We know a remote farm in Lincolnshire, where Mrs. Buckley lives.

Charlie Freak had but one thing to call his own.
Three weight ounce pure golden ring no precious stone.
Five nights, without a bite. No place to lay his head.
And if nobody takes him in he'll soon be dead.

On the street he spied my face; I heard him hail.
In our plot of frozen space he told his tale.
Poor man, he showed his hand. So righteous was his need.
And me so wise, I bought his prize for chicken feed.

Newfound cash soon begs to smash a state of mind.
Close inspection fast revealed his favorite kind.
Poor kid, he overdid: embraced the spreading haze.
And while he sighed, his body died in fifteen ways.

When I heard I grabbed a cab to where he lay.
`Round his arm the plastic tag read, "D.O.A."
Yes Jack, I gave it back; the ring I could not own.
Now come my friend, I'll take your hand and lead you home.

Wow, that's depressing

We didn't start the fire.
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning.

Wow, that's depressing

Indeed. But it remains one of my favorite Steely Dan songs.