FELLSIDE

Blowing a hoolie,
Hossing it down.

One for the big lugs
One for the clag-nav experts
Or just the lucky

Not my day, lad
Not my day
No power, no push,
No fire, no fight,

A damp squib on a damp fell,
Withdrawn, not running in the world, just in my head.

Crawling up, waiting for the relief of the
D o w n
Oh, no, no, this is w o r s e

Legs refuse to attack
Desperate to assemble the retreating troops,
But they’re white flagged, given up:
Nah mate, not today

Not to catch the runner ahead is a small frustration
I'll get 'em next time
But to be repeatedly passed is death by a thousand cuts.
Is this the end?
All over?
Will I ever. be fast. again?

No, this is the end.
Phew