Got my head to the floor,
and my sky is all brick.
If I left here now, I'd be sick.
Nothing to live for,
not a face I miss,
nor a lover to kiss.
It's not just my own confession,
it's an inmate expression.

I see bars keeping the world away,
I can feel chains keeping me safe.
It pains me to think of the day,
when I'm set free,
so I'll hit the warden and see,
if there's ten more years in it for me.
It's not just a suggestion,
it's an inmate confession.

Seems like a century ago,
I lived in a world I did know.
But now, as it appears,
the times have changed,
in all these isolated years.
I feel so estranged,
so out of the in,
thanks to my personal sin.
It's not just a digression,
it's an inmate confession.