The Diner's Closed

Every day,

On the dot

At twelve o' clock.

Pack up your work,

Down to the diner,

Time for lunch.

"Your usual, sir?"

"Yes please, thank you."

"Four dollars seventy."

Every day,

On the dot

At twelve o'clock.

The diner's closed.

What to do?

Where to go?

Next door?

Down the road?

What's for lunch

Now the diner is closed?

So many choices

So little time.

So much variety ain't worth a dime.

I've got to make a choice,

I've got to make it now.

What to do?

What to say?

I want my diner back.

Such a little thing.

Such a simple, little thing.

To turn my calm demeanour

Into chaos and confusion.

Such turmoil broils within my soul,

All because the diner's closed.