His name was John
The boy living next to your door
The boy whom you've shared your toys with before
You were his only companion
For he was shy to show himself to others

You were the only one who knew him
From the rest of the children, Ella and Tim
Every time you tell stories about John
They only shook their heads, for they've never seen one

You wonder why he hides from others
Why he doesn't want to be recognized
For he said maybe you'll be apart
And it would break his heart

In the middle of the cold nights
While everybody soundly slept, you played
At the old fountain, at the park or the stained swing
While telling you many things

Of his Mama and Papa, their great mansion
Their hacienda of a hundred hectares
Of this farmer who took his Mama away
And left his Papa crying in vain

But there was something about John you cannot explain
Why does he have a wounded head and a suit full of blood stains?
He will just nod and wink an eye
Now, I bet you know the reason why.