The Fox

I walked down the road as I reached a wooden bridge I see a sleeping fox. I pick up a stick and head across.

The fox jumps up and goes for me, I fight him off hitting him repeatedly. I think I've won but as i turn he punctures my left leg, I struggle as he tears at my flesh. We lose balance and fall into the hostile North Sea, I'm battling the waves and reluctant vermin. My neck flings back and I see the concrete breakers, I reach out but the slimy surface collects in my nails rejecting my clutch. My body wrapped in the waves raises to land, I hold out on to the metal railings and pull myself out. The fox is pounded against the concrete and I run.

Take a seat

Punched and kicked and badly beaten, wrong time wrong place for one time meeting.

Bobbies come but no points to score, won't be knocking on your door.

A&E with car crash face, you'll be seen in time at our pace.

Questions asked but witness lost, one mans freedom at one mans cost.

You sit at home and start to wonder how this mans free, you start to thunder.

The systems fucked its all askew but you're working class so there's no cure.

Own book own rules or play the game, either way you're not the same.

The policing ethics what a joke, just watch Great Britain go up in smoke.