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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1275506
Fictitious run-in with the police
Blue brick building blocking my way
Interfering with what I set out to do today
Shining gold shield set above the door
And a sheriff sits with his gun in its holster

Police cars lined up all around
Bullet cases scatter the ground

No questions, no questions
Miranda can’t stand in my way now
By no law have I set out
And now I’m leaving, no matter how

To protect and to serve
To get what you deserve

They took me back to their smoke filled room
Empty whiskey bottles strewn about
The ink pen runs dry as I try to sign a
Statement that will surely cry my doom
© Copyright 2007 Medulla Oblongata (evan.laird at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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