Inside the brightly painted hut
crinkle cut and candy flossed where old men dossed out of the rain and one more stain don't make no odds to Gods who '**** a deaf un',
sits Johnny Stone,
among the brittleness of skin and bone, he wears his worries and his cares away by sniffing grey hairs up his nose.
Posing every now and then for beachside surfers who,when they see this man survives amid the torture of the lies that haunt his face,move on to another place and forget they've ever seen and glad they've never known
Johnny Stone.
In this tinsel town one more Stone goes down and one more becomes the one that's trading places,revolving dreams on sunlit faces and a bigger pile of luggage cases for the dustbin men to take away
Stay at home,carve your dreams quite thinly off the bone, or you'll end up like Johnny Stone,
hungry
and all alone.