This is my lament my depressing story of woe; I am a sandwich with no ears, no voice, no soul.
In serious prose I must context; being a sandwich is not the best.
To the baker, the creator, I extend my thanks; for giving me life, that's shorter than Carlton Banks.
My life is crap, well that's what it comes to; I get brutally mangled, digested, and then I am no longer food.
If I am not eaten I am covered with mould; and I would just sit there for eternity because who would really eat a sandwich that old.
What is worse then dying? Sitting forever; Or thrown into a compost bucket with a half eaten liver.
If I am not eaten I will age 'till I'm soil; and perhaps, if I am lucky, I will become motor oil.
This is my lament, my depressing story of woe; I am a sandwich with no ears, no voice, no soul.
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After reading this entry, I feel that I understand a sandwhich's life on planet Earth.
ReplyDeleteThis is very original!