Johnny got a one track mind

Lost in his clay mountains and cracked heads, his mentality seeps from a chasm into the grooves of vinyl. Ignited with blood and bruised fingers he laughs as the last racist washes his shoes in a pool of his past arrogance. The stare that watched him fail awakens to embrace the history of agony his soul endured, clay sticks to his canned wounds as the leaches turn around to finally do good instead of crawling in harmony to the beat of the last heart.