Mephistopheles

I let him run on, this papier-maché Mephistopheles, and it seemed to me that if I tried I could poke my forefinger through him, and find nothing inside but a little loose dirt, maybe.

When I'm at the pearly gates / This'll be on my videotape, my videotape / When Mephistopheles is just beneath / And he's reaching up to grab me

Poison in my idle mind makes quick work for the Mephistopheles, / Who quickly makes his excuses

A man weeping in moral torment over bags of money; another so bored, depressed and isolated that he can barely raise his eyes to yet another shopping cart full of cash. These are the products of what I have come to think of as Donaldson in full Mephistopheles mode. “Look what these creatures of flesh and blood will do for cash,” he seems constantly on the verge of intoning, as he observes his subjects like so many mazed rats.