The Diner

When we lived in Heber Springs, Arkansas, I took a job as an all night deejay on a large country music station there. My schedule ran from Sunday night to Thursday night, midnight to 5 a.m. However, on Saturday evenings, I took another slot from 6 p.m. to midnight.

After work on Saturdays we would sometimes mosey over to the small diner on the corner — "The Smoke House" — and have coffee, late night breakfast, or maybe just some good conversation. There always seemed to be a contingent of folks who were just leaving the local country dance club along with folks who had been to the V.F.W. Hall for an evening of fun and dancing. And there were those, like me, who aside from their day-to-day jobs, wrote about life in some form or another, as columnists or aspiring novelists or what have you.

One day I was sitting and thinking about those experiences and they turned into a song. I hope you enjoy the lyrics.

The Diner

Down at the diner last Saturday evening
I saw an old friend I once knew.
I listened intently and laughed at his jokes
as the time and memories flew.
The waitress brought coffee whenever we called
and the backroom was bustling and loud.
And the dancers and deejays and writers of words
were all part of that Saturday crowd.

It's just a reflection of this crazy world
with it's wheelers and dealers and such.
There's no cover charge ...
you don't need reservations.
It's a refuge when you feel out of touch.

When I get to heaven I'll walk streets of gold
and I'll look for that blue neon sign.
The one that says "Joe's Place - Come in and Eat"
but heaven knows just what I'll find.
There will be a banquet, or so I've been told,
and I've heard that the singing is loud.
I hope the dancers and deejays and the writers of words
are all part of that heavenly crowd.

'Cause it's just a reflection of this crazy world,
with it's wheelers and dealers and such.
The admission's been paid but you'll need reservations
it's a refuge when you feel out of touch.