The Sound Of Slices

September 24, 2009 at 1:59 AM | Posted in Riding In Cars With Pizza | Leave a comment
You see, after I left The Who (and it’s a good thing I did, too–those guys are dropping like flies.  It’s only a matter of time…) I hooked up with a poetic, gentle guy with a great voice.  Art Garfunkel.  He thought it was a little too homo-erotic for him, just the two of us, so he got his friend Paul to join us.  Well, he could play guitar, so I thought it was fine.  Little did I know how conniving he was.  Eventually they pushed me out, but not before they took my masterpiece and changed the words, and made it their hit.  They completely forgot about me.  I’m not even mentioned in the liner notes.  Bastards.
But here it is in its ORIGINAL form:


Pizza boxes my old friends
I’ve come to fold you up again
Because a GM softly creeping
Woke me up when I was sleeping,
And the threat of being fired still remains
In my brain
Within the sound of slices

On deliveries I go alone
Driving fast and getting stoned
Beneath the halo of a streetlamp
I deliver in the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash
Of a neon light
“Open All Night”
To serve the sound… of slices

And in florescent light I saw
10 thousand pizzas, maybe more
Pizzas stacking without leaving
Pizzas sitting and not going
Pizzas growing old and drivers never care
No one dare
Disturb the sound of slices.

"Fools!" said I, "You do not know!
"Sliced like that it cannot go!"
Hear my words that I might teach you
Grab my apron that I might train you
But my words, like pepperoni fell
And in the air the smell
Of slices
And the people bitched but paid
For the pizza that I made
And the sign flashed out its warning
See the words that it was forming
And the sign said the slices of the pizza
Are for sale near the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whisper the sound… of slices

I still tear up when I hear it.


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