The Prisoner

Words: Joseph Abbott
Music: “The Boxer,” Simon and Garfunkel

I am not a number, but my story’s often told
They have battered my resistance
As a burst of thunder rumbles on the runway
All life’s a test
But most people see what they want to see
And disregard the rest

When they took me from my London flat
I was no more than a toy
In the corridors of power
In the secret chambers underneath the egg-shaped chair
Playing low, seeking out the information
That I don’t want them to know
Looking for the traces
That their tests might show

CHORUS: Where am I?
Who are you? What do you want?
Where am I?
Who are you? What do you want? Where am I?

Asking each arriving Number Two
Just which side he is on
I get no answers
Just another taunting question about why I quit
By hook or crook
They think they can stamp and index me
If they just know where to look

(Instrument break — variation on the “Prisoner” theme)

When I’m laying out my festive clothes
And wishing I was home, going home
Where the bouncing rubber Rover isn’t wrapping me
Trapping me, far from home

In the Village stands the Prisoner
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every drug that laid him low
And every new betrayal
‘Til he cries out in his rage:
“I am a free man, I am a free man”
But a prisoner he remains


This is the bio am I doing this right? Probably not.

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