A simple little lunch, what might you say?

Trying to start my day right,
I cleaned out my ears and grabbed a small bite,
but there’s no use in smiling without a light,
because nothing can ever start out just right.
The start is full of frostbite,
Burrowed in mud and stuck in hindsight.
So here I am, searching for a moral cause to fight,
For the start is the morning, as well as the night.

I dream simply of midday,
When the rainbow xylophones begin to play,
Inside my head, again and again, until I whisper “Hey—
Mind looking at me for a day?”
That’s the kind of thing one should never say,
Unless they want that smile to fade away,
But all I want is for you and this to stay,
And have a simple little lunch at midday.

The noontime finally comes at last,
While the speech writer’s window has come and past,
His tongue has been injured and wrapped in a cast,
While he writes “How long, then, can the mid-love last?”
That man’s in the past now, he’s tied to the mast,
I’m staying in the mud, whilst the moonlight is cast,
Waiting for this simple little lunch; until then, I fast,
And whisper “How long, then, can the noontime last?”