Domino's at the Crossroads

Stoned to the Bone

Domino’s at the Crossroads

I’m stoned to the bone,
Nobody home,
The phone keeps ringin’ like a church bell drone.

Maybe it’s Domino’s, wantin’ me to rise,
But my body’s already flat, starin’ at the skies.

Pepperoni prophecy, cardboard throne,
Every slice a sermon, every crust a stone.
The Devil don’t tempt with gold anymore —
He knocks three times and leaves it at the door.

And somewhere down Highway 61,
Robert Johnson’s laughin’, sayin’,

“Son, you don’t need to sell your soul —
you just need exact change.”

So I tip the ghost that brought the pie,
Light another truth, let the moment fry,
And whisper to the empty room,
“Blues been fed — I’ll be fine by noon.”

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