a prisoner of my own words
I am a P.O.W.
Not a prisoner of war, a prisoner of words. Like a soldier, I'm a fighter, yet only a puppet. Mostly I only say what you wanna hear. Could you take it if I came clear? Or would you rather see me stoned on a drug of complacency and compromise? M.I.A. I guess that's what I am, scraping this cold earth for a piece of myself, for peace in myself.
It'd be easier if you put me in jail. If you locked me away, I've have someone to blame. But these bars of steel are of my making. They surround my mind and have me shaking. My hands are cuffed behind my back. I'm a prisoner of the worst kind, in fact. A prisoner of compromise, a prisoner of compassion, a prisoner of kindness, a prisoner of expectation, a prisoner of my youth. Run too fast to be old. I've forgotten what I was told. Ain't I a sight to behold?
A prisoner of age dying to be young. To my head is my hand with a gun. And it's cold and it's hard cause there's nowhere to run when you've caged yourself by holding your tongue.
I'm a prisoner of words unsaid. Just lonely feelings locked away in my head. It's like solitary confinement. Every time I stay quiet I should start to speak. But I stop and stay silent. And now I've made my own hard bed, inside a prison of words unsaid.
Not a prisoner of war, a prisoner of words. Like a soldier, I'm a fighter, yet only a puppet. Mostly I only say what you wanna hear. Could you take it if I came clear? Or would you rather see me stoned on a drug of complacency and compromise? M.I.A. I guess that's what I am, scraping this cold earth for a piece of myself, for peace in myself.
It'd be easier if you put me in jail. If you locked me away, I've have someone to blame. But these bars of steel are of my making. They surround my mind and have me shaking. My hands are cuffed behind my back. I'm a prisoner of the worst kind, in fact. A prisoner of compromise, a prisoner of compassion, a prisoner of kindness, a prisoner of expectation, a prisoner of my youth. Run too fast to be old. I've forgotten what I was told. Ain't I a sight to behold?
A prisoner of age dying to be young. To my head is my hand with a gun. And it's cold and it's hard cause there's nowhere to run when you've caged yourself by holding your tongue.
I'm a prisoner of words unsaid. Just lonely feelings locked away in my head. It's like solitary confinement. Every time I stay quiet I should start to speak. But I stop and stay silent. And now I've made my own hard bed, inside a prison of words unsaid.