Prison’s a place that gets lonely at night.
With no mail to read as no one will write.
Depending on people I thought were my friends.
Waiting for pictures that nobody sends.
Then waiting for visits that never take place.
From so-called loved ones who’ve forgotten
Dressed to the nines with nothing to do.
At least now I know exactly who’s who.
I must have been miserable it has to be so.
As my prayers were all answered and the answer
I’ll do my time with my head held up high.
I won’t ask for anything, I’d much rather die.
As prison is where I first saw the light.
Like a Gull on a wire, I can no longer fight.
Yet now I don’t argue, I’d much rather write…