by Nick Gisburne
The finest escapologist by far
Impervious to man’s most cunning traps
Suspended in a concrete-covered car
Still struggles in the thick restraining straps
A crimson liquid bubbles in his hands
A clever misdirection is afoot
Secured and locked, the heavy iron bands
Dissolve and drop, as soft as soggy soot
The crowd is silent, suckers for suspense
He knows exactly how to play with death
The countdown’s final agonies commence
And every anxious body holds a breath
Emerging from the rubble of the wreck
He trips and tumbles, severing his neck
