Clive - The Prisoner [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

He said
"Sometimes the world doesn't make sense to me
Is a coincidence an event that was meant to be
Is destiny a word created just to believe in purpose?
A sedative so we can get to sleep?"
On the surface, I bet it is but let us get a little bit
Inquisitive and further into the world of the desolate
And devilish curses he feels, reversing what is real
Heading in churches to get healed but still ill
It was an autumn day, gazing at the red leaves
Bleeding on those dead streets often taking coffee breaks
To contemplate the thoughts that made him foster pain
He was lost in his ways and all that remained was an exhausted face
A common state that occurs when you concentrate
Too intensely on your awful fate. It weighed him down
Heavily waiting for ten to three to call it a day
Not accomplished cause all that he got was some dollars and change
Not enough pay to call and get off for a day
Harboring the knowledge that he probably should be locked in a cage
For all the thoughts that invade his mind
Wondering whats stopping him from clocking his face in
With the bottles he takes to calm in ways the cops couldn't trace
A safe way to bottle the rage...so he wanders and paces
In his basement, stalling and wasting his days wasted
Bothered and afraid he'll end up crawling, enslaved
'til he's falling in grave with his epitaph engraved
So he sobs and he breaks convincing himself robbery pays
He figured that if he can quit the job that he hates
He'll probably make enough time for a shot to be great
He knew his boss would not relate to his plots to escape
So in secret he bought an 8 gauge and went on with his ways
Not thinking he would get caught for the laws that he'd break
Lost in his ways, haunted but stayed
Pretending he didn't know it was about to cost him a great
Lawsuit and pain. Sitting in his getaway van
Watching the droplets of rain fall in the drain like "there's a way out"
As he stops and he waits just before pulling all of the stops and falling from grace
He fled from the van, with gun in hand he attacked stuffing the cash in His bag fast
He understands the government can
Start recording his spot with hundreds of cams
So he jumped and then landed back in the van before he got caught
But it was too late, standing with cuffs in his hands
He was in court with the cops then slam, got locked up in the can
His most cunning of plans didn't go according to plot
And his Gordian knot was cut from the strands
Started plummeting fast, he was bloodied and bashed
Poisoned with the voices in his head, toyed with and misled
He was punished for that dumb and dumber attack
So devoid of a net to catch him
Destroyed and regretful of his rummage through trash
As if he was loving to have no coins and a debt that was pointing to death
Well, zoom the camera out, see the boy is in a bed
In a psych ward -- it was all in his head
Enter a doctor with meds, off of the bed he leaps
As he sorts of pretends like he wasn't just gone in another land
Caught up with other plans to escape to halfway house and lay down
The quietest person might be the most violent and hurting inside
Nervous, feeling like life is worthless
First in line searching for words to find
To express the purposefulness he feels
Hurts to cry so he curls up with pints of bourbon
Toxic medicine, his spirits of turpentine
Lurking in the shadows til the curtain is pulled
He battles like the perfect bullfighter, he straddles the saddle
A shattered individual battered, running around in the same patterns
Matter of fact, with his madness intact he breaks down
Admitting defeat, a sinister streak come to an end
A prisoner... free