Time will tell if it’s prophecy
When Babel fell, did the babble cease?
The first world’s bank is the third world’s crime
And it all adds up at closing time

History is a rich man’s tale
A row of lamps on the paper trail
But the lights have dimmed and the trading’s died
And they’ve closed the books on closing time

Now border fence got raised again
And we all lament that the line’s so thin
But the neighborhood is tucked in tight
And lock your gates, it’s closing time

Tell me this, when you’re on the street
Do you look for hints in the eyes you meet?
Or do you look away and say “Just fine”
And hurry home at closing time

Now the Golden Years with their edges brown
Just one loose gear’ll grind the whole chain down
And grown men cry just to grease their minds
When they’ve lost their sense of closing time

Copyright 2003. Words and music by Danny Schmidt