The first time I saw Johnny,
He was wrapped around a sign post trying to cross the road
He wore a bright pink T-shirt without a care for his hair,
White dreadlocks on down to his toes
Almost collapsing in the wind with alarms ringing
He made the other side in due time
And once he crossed the road you could see in his eyes,
He had lost his mind a few too many times

He feels the love and he feels the hate
Both of these are here to stay
As long as he finds that healthy balance between the two
He will keep on pushing on through

His name is Johnny, he hasn't got many friends
He's old enough to be my grandad but he acts like he's my son

With the sun shining outside, he's in a room with the light on
And the curtains closed
With a high pitch skinny voice, both strange and inviting
He recites his own prose
He spoke of African night skies and the silhouettes
Of elephants, stars and monkeys
And after every verse he would look around to see the pictures
Painted by his words

And I feel his love and I feel his hate
Both of these are here to stay
As long as we find that healthy balance between the two
Which really isn't that easy to do
You will see that we will keep on pushing on through

His name is Johnny, he hasn't got many friends
He's old enough to be my grandad but he acts like he's my son
My son, my son, my son...

Deja de mirar, deja de mirarte,
Y aunque creas, que no vale,
¿Quien te ha visto?
¿Quien te ha visto y quien te ve?
En esta vida tan jodida no dejes de vivir