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.”
Where music meets myth, and every note tells a story.