Corporal Fox My God, it was cold in the Falklands When the stars and the flares shone out clear, But at least I had mates to share jokes with It's much colder and lonelier here. And that sharp piece of Argentine shrapnel It's hurt me for many a year But not like when you look straight through me, Pretending I'm not even here. My God, we were thirsty in Kuwait And choking in dust we went dry But we shed a few tears for our Gary When a mine took his legs and he died And knowing the next step could kill me I thought it had taught me of fear Til I see how you look straight through me Pretending I'm not even here. My God, I was angry to hear it When 'home' from the army I came: There were flats for Iraqis and Afghans But never a one with my name. I thought that the council would sort it Til a desk clerk with spiky green hair Said "next please" and looked straight through me Pretending I just wasn't there. So I swear and I curse and I mutter Though the anger is mainly inside Without hope there's no disappointment There's no one out there on my side. I know the White Lightning will kill me Don't you see that I really don't care? It helps me to look straight through you And pretend that I'm not quite all there. So I live where the police cars can't see me In my rags and my old cardboard box And there's no one would notice me vanish Except for my mate, Corporal Fox. Two broken old squaddies together In winter we share the same lair And I bring him some bones from our Colonel So he doesn't pretend I'm not there. Author Nick Griffin gives a brief word sketch of the inspiration behind Corporal Fox, one of more than a dozen songs he has written: I have a very early childhood memory of seeing a bearded tramp with a fox on a lead. It was many years later, when I heard that around 20% of Britain's homeless are ex-servicemen, that I remembered him and realised that most 'tramps' in the early 1960s would have been veterans of the Second World War. Different wars have been fought since then, of course, but the disgrace of old soldiers without homes stays the same. Having promoted his fox to Corporal, the veteran of two recent conflicts brings him chicken bones from the bin outside KFC so he doesn't lose his only companion. He seems to be going mad – or is it the society that lets such men down so badly that's truly crazy?
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