Well I'm sitting in my cell, I don't trust the outside world
Lies became Truth, Heaven got worse than Hell
There's far too much of nothing, & still people cry for more
Blindness was the answer when the old man's eyes got sore
Reality is only a small percentage of what we choose not to ignore
There's too much information, too much greed behind the scenes
We stole the sacred text but no one’s got the soul to know what it means
You're crucified as a heretic & an infidel today
If you can’t follow all your metaphor with ridiculous cliche
This life's just one tall story, never let the truth get in the way
We gladly wear our ball & chain, freedom's long passe
Ignorance is a virtue, oblique's become opaque
Every night I go to sleep & I dream that I'm awake
I stand here gripping these prison bars, constantly in doubt
I can tell if I'm looking in or if the guards are looking out
But they found a way to rob a man with nothing left to lose
And now the jailer whistles the prisoner's blues
I travelled through the world before they threw me in the joint
I could lie to get what I wanted but I wanted truth so what’s the point
I hung out on the inside, teetered on the edge
Went to see the Oracle but I misheard what it said
So I swapped the artists ideals for a little Luger & I killed some folks instead
Well it seems not everybody can be free & I was too slow I suppose
When the cops burst in they said 'Congratulations!'
Cuffed me & they broke my nose
Told me they were protecting me & all the people I might hurt
That I was a degenerate but they all seemed to like my work
Told me I was special, not just another scum inmate
Told me I was the Ubermench, a man compared to the primate
Told me not to struggle, suggested I accept my fate
Told me I was an Artiste, I said 'Fine. What's the going rate?'
Then they threw me from an airplane so I could describe the view
For now the jailer whistles the prisoner's blues
I visited the prison doctor, he was smoking a cigarette
He said Longevity was over-ratted, who wants to be old & decrepit?
Whip the monkey long enough maybe he will dance
It might alleviate the boredom, might be entertaining while it lasts
For there's not enough to go around, there's only so much wealth
Seems the only way to not get robbed is to go rob someone else
God created the Heavens & Earth but Man created Sin
When another's pain means nothing cause you don't feel anything
They're fighting a losing battle they are never going to win
Still they got me in the corner waiting for the music to begin
Everyday they whip me & force me to produce
They don't want originality, they prefer a substitute
Something like that other one, c'mon, play it again, Sam!
Now the prisons are filled with Artists, the lunatics are the Big Boss Man
They've taken over the asylum & baby I blame you
For now the jailers whistle the prisoners blues
Everyday they whip me & force me to produce
But pain is not the reason, even if it was, what's the use?
Eventually they worked it out if they just left me alone
Loneliness would get me & from my cell I'd begin to moan
But what's so appealing I haven't got a clue
But now the jailer whistles the prisoner's blues!
Baby there's a black dog creeping around my door
Every day I feed him all I got but the next day he comes back wanting more
Maybe we deserve this, maybe we should go & leave this whole damn mess behind for another animal
For even some low parasite would never kill it's host
So when you're talking about intelligence, a Flea or Me, who's got the most?
So I'm sitting in my cell, I don't trust the outside world
I'm glad I'm incarcerated.... better that outside in that Hell
Most the time you look around, you don't have to look too far
You're lookin in the mirror & still you can't see who you are
For they make you numb with pleasure, then they dare to act surprised
When you're poisoned with sensation & you're left desensitised
& you can't quite remember any time before the greed
Life & Death is neither here nor there when you lose Eternity
& you try to kill your Brother, trying to deny
That any form of Murder isn't really Suicide
Tasmanian musician Van Walker is the voice and writer behind groups such as The Swedish Magazines, Livingstone Daisies, Goatpiss Gasoline & Heartbrokers, as well as 7 critically acclaimed solo albums to date
supported by 13 fans who also own “Prisoner's Blues”
The attention to detail in the compositions. Each title represents in itself, an overall dominance and mastery of his style of songwriting. The music displayed is of the most sincere and delicate nature, from the ground upwards. billac
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