Escape

"I'm gonna paste you up, cover you in wallpaper
Screw shelves into you and call you a wall
That's all you are to me, trying to keep people inside
Inside your sordid little house; this is no white abode

You can have skirting board shoes and plug sockets on your knees
I'll hang a painting on your lip
And put tinsel 'round it at Christmas
Trying to keep people inside, inside your sordid little house
Trying to keep people inside, inside your sordid little house.

You can't keep us inside much longer now
We've seen the view from the windows..."


I have an escape route.
It won't be much longer that I have to live with this. To put up with them hurting and doubting me. "You'll never manage," dad said. "You'll never cope." What kind of parent tells their child that?
And the shouting. If it's not at each other it's at me or someone else. The whole atmosphere in this house has become poisonous. I won't be sorry to leave, now. Not now that I have my escape.
It might hurt them, what I'm going to do. I don't much care anymore. They can't make me stay, not by law. And I won't let them use words.