Prisoners of Conscience

Born beyond fucking lost
Behind the eight ball, mostly my fault
A wrap sheet and blackened lungs
I should've died when I was fucking young

Everyone fucks with you living broke in the street
A target on your back, a poison unseen

Death is the final after thought for the desperate that can not stop
When you don't have money to eat and no where you're allowed to sleep

Go! When they criminalize how you survive

Behind bars, built without a key
Hide from reality if it doesn't fit
Better if they believe that we don't exist



Credits
Writer(s): Wesley Lanier Richards
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

Link