Counting - Tilt

Johnny is counting his fingers again

He told me death was his only friend

He’s so meticulous yes he will send you

Clear out of your head

Johnny he lives in a tiny room

Stacked to the rafters with doom and gloom

Digging through piles of papers and things

Looking for something obsessing his brain

And no one can catch him he’s on a run

The next one could kill him, He’s having fun

And no one can catch him he’s on a run

Johnny he’s talking in tongues again

Scratching his red irritated skin

So irreversibly around the bend he’s clear out of his head

Johnny he lives in a tiny room

Stacked to the rafters with doom and gloom

Digging through piles of papers and things

Looking for something obsessing his brain

Now he sees a face no one else can see in the grain of an oaken door

And it’s speaking to him woodenly and it shakes him to the very core

Out the door up the hill and down the primrose path

Furies nipping at his heels in the wake of his aftermath