Bedlam from Bedlam EP by Old Town Wake

In a prison cell he dreams of rivers,
And through the bars he gently prays.
Though my room’s not much bigger,
At least I know it’s not my grave.
Lately I been out of rhythm,
And lord he knows I’ve made mistakes.
But I won’t kneel and beg forgiveness.
There’s no apology to make.
I don’t know how I came here.
It’s where I go, not where I been.
My dreams are greater than this container.
My life is waiting to be lived.
If your job is not a jail cell than it’s a means to be set free.
For every payday/evening/weekend is the happiness you seek.
But there is tyranny in liberty and opportunity.
How can a surplus of choice lead us to debt?
How can such possibility lead to regret?
There are winners and there are losers, and the tally has been set.
You only complain of going home.
It’s the same folks here every week
Getting pissed off at what they’ll never be,
Getting stupid on the comforts and the chemicals they seek.
They don’t sow, so they’ll never reap.
They don’t go, there’s nothing to see.
They are waiting.
They are waiting for someone to throw them the key.
Could it be me?

• Americana
• Folk
• Folk Rock
• Roots Punk
• Soul Punk
• Pennsylvania