I’ve been trapped inside this building, I've been in since I was little
It's a riddle, but the foundation to it is turning brittle
When you're walking up the stairs, down the hallway, look to the middle
On the left, you'll see my doorway is leaning and full of splinters
From taking it off the hinges, Memories back to prison
A victim to those that sentenced, their sinister ways of lynching
Distorted image, through torn prisms, praying the governments lifting
And shifting, its hand from the neck of the oppressed, to relieve some of this tension.