Month to month, year to year
He was the dishwasher, busy in the back, his hands covered with
Time measured by the peeling of paint on the luncheonette wall
They all run together
Gravy
Filled with cracked china
They sat together in the empty diner
His voice was rusty from years as a sergeant on "this man's army"
Day to day, to day today
He was young and randy
She was twenty when the diner was a baby
Brilliantine slick, a pot - cleaning dandy
They were old and crusty
Hair black and wavy
Old news was blowing across the filthy floor
Then they were old, their lives wasted away
And the sign on the door read "this way out", that's all it read
