The Prisoner.

[The Prisoner] (a lyrical work of fiction i.e.: 'I' does not mean me and so on and so forth haha.)


Keep me in the clear, save these hands from shaking.
All I have to fear is losing the progress I've been making,
my dear, my dear.

And despite the risks of drawing lines,
I've found a home right here, drawn inside;
and I've changed, oh, how I've changed.

Hold-ing on to memories, moving fast; like the cars that travel past, this place in which I reside.
Know- that the wheels spin so sure, keeping pace: they're undetoured; like a thought that holds no lie.

And despite the risks of drawing lines,
I've made a home right here, deep inside;
and I've changed, oh, how I've changed.

Time and measurements aside: I ask, ascance, for remnants of lines long since written in pale moonlight.
Hold onto memories perchance that the facts will change the hands that are dealt to us this time.

Once more is enough to last for all of time,
I build you up to break you down in pride;
and even then I knew I'd be rid of you,
I'd be sick of you; and yet I've changed.
Despite the risks of telling lies,
I've made a home of them, inside;
but I've changed, oh, I swear I've changed.