Unarmed

Me and Johnny sitting here on my bed. Johnny has a nice voice and gentle hands. Me? I can whistle to his guitar tune. I can't tune his guitar. It is in perfect state. Johnny doesn't call his arms guns. Johnny doesn't play hide and seek with me. I know where to find him. Always... without an exception. He answers me: 

"Don't take your guns to town, son. Leave your guns at home, Bill. Don't take your guns to town"

Johnny told me to blow the dust off my shoes. It is not a good sign to pack shoes with the dirt of the place you leave. It is not a good sign to pack the dust. So I clean my shoes and get rid of all the letters without a meaning. I've stored it for a long time. Never read it. My summaries left unread as well. I regret it, but it is not really healthy to regret. Not really healthy as well as high level headphones. Not healthy.

"Don't take your guns to town, son. Leave your guns at home, Bill. Don't take your guns to town"

It is late, but Johnny doesn't seem to be tired. My eyes hurt even though Johnny wiped them. Johnny still sings for me. I don't know anything about music. I have Fellini, Polanski and Coens coming over. I have Johnny. That's all I have. Handful of imagination. Despite that, tonight I steer my anxiety crooning:

"Don't take your guns to town, son. Leave your guns at home, Bill. Don't take your guns to town"