Confined in a cell of a yesterday and they say it's for the best,
consigned by contract and on the small print I reflect,
I should have read it before and
now with no recourse to the law
I become bandit, random, extreme, a bandolier
for a vest.

In the home, I can roam at will and where memory serves me I take my fill until I forget and the contract kicks in and the cell reappears, how many more years, how many years have gone by, how many bars in the blink of one eye and then they're gone but remain.

And by all accounts I can account for today but tomorrow it's yesterday and the account I must pay is placed in my head.

Not bedridden by any means but it seems that I'm hidden away in a cell of a yesterday and parole is a lifetime gone awry and away, I lay, arms across my chest, a bandolier for a vest, a bandit, extreme,
and I dream of tomorrow.