BY JAY WELLER
JOHNNY, HE COME HOME WEARING SCARS
THE KIND THAT WERE HARD NOT TO IGNORE
RAGGED STITCHES CROSS A TWISTED STUMP
A HEAD OF ANGER AND A MORPHINE PUMP
JOHNNY CAME BACK BROKEN BENT AND TORE
JOHNNY, HE GAZED UP AT THE STARS
HE WONDERED WHAT ALL HE DID WAS FOR
HE TRAMPED UP TO THE HOTEL TRUMP
CROSS THE FLATS FROM THE CITY DUMP
BUT, HE DON’T MUCH GO THERE ANYMORE
JOHNNY STARED AT THE COMMUTER CARS
LIVED BY THE TRACKS ABOVE THE LIQUOR STORE
RIDERS THUMBED THE SCANDAL SHEETS
GLANCED DOWN, THE CITY UNDERNEATH
OCCUPIED BY GANGSTERS, DRUNKS AND WHORES
JOHNNY, HE STRUMMED HIS OLD GUITAR
AND PALMED THE SHINEY MEDAL THAT HE WORE
HE USED TO PLAY THE OPEN JAM
THE GREASY BAR ON BIRMINGHAM
BUT JOHNNY, HE DON’T GO THERE ANYMORE
JOHNNY, HE LAID DOWN BY THE SEA
USED TO THINK JUST WHAT HIS LIFE COULD BE
A CROOKED TAP ON A VELVET MAP
A DESERT RIDE AND A ROADSIDE BLAST
JOHNNY, HE DON’T DREAM MUCH ANYMORE
JOHNNY, HE COME HOME WEARING SCARS
HE SEARCHED FOR ANSWERS UP THERE IN THE STARS
AN UNBOUNDED GUN AND A HAMMER CLACK
UP AT HIS WINDOW, AN UNNOTICED FLASH
JOHNNY, HE’S NOT WITH US ANYMORE