Johnny East

The word is out from street to street that little Johnny East is dead
They wrapped him in his winding sheet and placed a stone above his head
Sleep Johnny sleep

The relics of his reckless games little Johnny East is dead
His cars and trucks and ships and planes are in a box beneath his bed
Sleep Johnny sleep

The sun beats down and the winter rages little Johnny East is dead
And all the dust from all the ages settles down upon his head
Sleep Johnny sleep

There comes a time we cannot name little Johnny East is dead
When cars and trucks and ships and planes will stain the seams of rock rust red
Sleep Johnny sleep

Bed and toys and blood and bone little Johnny East is dead
All locked inside a seam of stone where shoals of shimmering fishes roam and unimagined sharks cruise overhead
Sleep Johnny sleep