must be lonely in that mental cell
locked up is some form of hell
outside its all nice and, all nice and swell
guess everyone has got somethin, somethin to sell

won’t make it if you’re runnin loose
prove to me prove to me you ain’t got no proof
how’s it feel some kind of truth?
ain’t had no fire since you been a youth

maybe someday I’ll find it again
quit searching for the face of a, of a new best friend
quit throwin my faith into religion
quit buyin what, whatever they sellin

I suspect somewhere I’ve got a light
rusted and busted and not burnin bright
Hell and brimstone can’t win that fight
we all die in a cell so quiet