SANDWICHES

Sandwiches, stale open sandwiches
Posthumous sons of yesterdays’ feasts
With egg and mayo
With ham and cheese
Made on Thursday
Or Friday at least

Sandwiches, stale open sandwiches
Shipwrecked during their voyage
Nobody’s had one of these
They’ve been too long out of the fridge

The one with hard-boiled egg is the heaviest gauge
Guests must open their mouths most wide
The snowplough pulls in stage by stage
With the mayo oozing out on the sides

Oh, you’re here too, sandwich with lobster paste
For years you stood for prosperity in our minds
We wandered on what the recipe is based
And as for the slice of lemon – we ate it with the rind

And here’s the classic with salami from Hungary
He who will eat this must be seriously hungry
I think I remember when it cost some twenty cents
And still can smell the odour, the conference room scent

I like those sandwiches, the witnesses of days gone by
Well, I’m like a stale French bread myself, aren’t I?
We lived in freedom and without it
And we’ve seen quite a bit
And we’ve had quite a bit

Sandwiches, stale open sandwiches…