Who Needs a Blender When You Got John? by Lucien Rocco ("Newstyle")      There was a poem that became universal in that beautiful time.      Not everybody knew it, only the very wise recited it:      Johnny's dead.      He drowned in a sea of blood.      He lost his head.      Gotta a gun and shot a fat guy, so it's said.      Johnny was confused.      And now he's the opposite of a bruise.      Johnny's dead, he was a poor sap indeed.      I'll think of him when I cut myself and bleed.      Johnny's dead, what's his mom gonna say?      Will she cry when she's stoned and know that           her baby has washed away?      Johnny's dead and will anybody miss him?      Someone wrote a story and will anybody listen?

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