Jail is a lonely place to be.
I have stripes on my clothes,
I am confined to the shadows,
the next cell is my foes.
They call me, "What's your name, Joe?"
I call back, "I don't deserve a name anymore."
It's a depressing place,
with chains on my fists.
I cry the days and nights away,
I am on the police record list.
My family is ashamed of my ways,
everything is smoke and mist,
everything is blurry and in a haze.
I don't know who I'm angry at,
maybe at my mistakes,
But I do know one thing,
the crime I did wasn't fake.
It was real.
Jail is a lonely place to be.
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