Story Behind the Song
this is a song written out of genuine raging bewildered surreal manic frustration at having absolutely no idea how these things can possibly disapear like they do, or where they could possibly be RIGHT NOW, and having to deal with the piercing harsh reality that i'll probably never, ever, ever know.....
Lyrics
WHERE DO MISSING SOCKS GO
VERSE1/CHORUS1
i sat talking to my socks the other day
you'll all go in, but some of you will not come out
what lies beyond existence who can say
but still you must stay fearless and your hearts stay stout
i tossed them in and turned the dryer on
i left in guilt for sending them somewhere so unsafe
when folding them, as usual, three were gone
i took a moment then flew into manic rage
i said "how can so much cotton just disapear!?
i know these socks have mates, and many more exist;
i never loan them out; they must be here!"
so i combed the house, found nothing, but would not desist
i crawled inside the dryer to look for a crack
i found a tiny tunnel that had just been used
i caught a laundry gremlin living in the back
but he swore he just eats panties, so i'm still confused
said where the hell do all my socks go
someone tell me, someone must know
empty socks can't walk too far
VERSE2/CHORUS2
i bought a bag of picks the other week
i got a bag of fifty, because i had none
seems a bit excessive if you think
'cause if you sit and do the math, i just need ONE.
checked my stash of picks the other day
i counted them all one by one, the whole damn pool
i counted twice, "there must be some mistake..."
but i got the same result, they totaled up to two
said where the hell do all my picks go
someone tell me, someone must know
picks don't simply fly away
= BRIDGE =
maybe they're just sitting in a junkyard (talking pick talk)
or maybe they're in some limbo with floating elephant eggs from hell
maybe they converged into primordial ooze (and oozed away)
maybe they were beamed aboard a starship from the future
...
you know know, like in star trek IV? maybe in the future there are no more picks, because everyone gets sick of rock, folk, and jazz, and one day a giant black pillar comes plumitting through space going "WHOB WHOB WHOB" and sucking the energy out of everything it passes killing everyone, and someone realizes the noise is really a lot of amps inside the pillar turned up really high but there's no music because the aliens on the ship don't have picks to play their guitars and bases with, so the humans come back in time and beam up picks we lay down when we're not looking (because they can't significantly interfere of course because that would risk changing the course of history), but they need like a SHITLOAD of them because the black thing is really big so that's why they've been disapearing for so long.
where the hell do all our picks go
maybe they met up and formed and underground resistance
maybe they're all gathering to STRIKE!
(DID YOU ORDER THE MODE SHIFT!?)
(YOU'RE GODAMN RIGHT I DID!)
maybe they're all sitting out there waiting
in the shadows 'til they they deem the time is right
(to declare their independence and wage war AGAINST our guitars for the freedom of plastic everywhere!)
where the hell did all my picks go
maybe they've been dropped and lost and trodden
..(i use picks no step has trodden black)
maybe they're in hiding with bin laden
..(does he even play guitar?)
maybe they all sank into a small bog
..(ARTAX!!)
maybe they were eaten by a balrog
..(this foe is beyond any of you!)
and where the hell did all my SOCKS go
maybe there's a sock-stock disease and i've got it
..(where--the--hell--did--i--put--)
maybe they were melted by a hobbit
..(*I* will take squish's socks to mordor!)
maybe they're inside a watermel-lon
..(smell-free!)
maybe they were raptured into heaven, help me,
where in hell did all my socks go
someone tell me someone must know
socks can't simply walk away
VERSE3/CHORUS3
i bought a bunch of pens; red, black, and blue
i placed 'em down all over so i'd have a ton
i knelt a moment, tied my untied shoe
but when i stood up every single one was gone
i had an FBI team search my room
they bagged and searched and even traced for fingerprints
they couldn't find the pens, i had to swoon...
but the good news is they found 614 picks!
said where the hell do all my things go
physics says they can't shrink, can't grow
the law of conservation of mass says they must be some-
ENDING
where the hell do all my socks go
where the hell did those cute jocks go
where the hell do all my picks go
where the hell did those bald chicks go
where the hell did tofu pez go
keaunu reves always says "whoa"
where the hell [pause] did those four beats go
where'd the bleeps, the sweeps and creeps go
where on earth did all those years go
mommy, where do dead cashiers go?
where the hell did all those bands go
where oh where did all my fans go
where the hell do all our socks go
someone tell me, someone must know
socks can't simply stroll away...
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