The Escape Poem by Brian Stafford

I burnt my nose on a grindstone,
trapped my fingers in a wheel;
I’m riding on a treadmill,
like an hamster in a wheel;
I’ve got shackles on my ankles,
a millstone round my neck,

There’s got to be a way out,
Got to plan an escape;
There’s got to be a way out,
Got to make my escape;

They treat me like a carthorse,
It’s really not much fun;
I’m going to lose some wages,
cos’ I stayed out in the sun;
I think they’re trying to drive me,
Into an early grave,

There’s got to be a way out,
Got to plan an escape;
There’s got to be a way out,
Got to make my escape.