The prisoner sat slumped on the side of his bed in a corner of his cell. I say cell, but no one else saw any bars. They were there, though.

Many times he awoke and thought the hated walls had collapsed. He would jump to his feet and try to run only to crash once again against a wall of … of … something, falling back to the floor in despair. Then he saw him most clearly—the jailer–huge, hideous, grinning viciously at his desperate efforts.

Someone had to come with the key because he couldn’t get out on his own.

Prison of Praiselessness

That’s the way David felt in Psalms 142, “Set me free from my prison that I may praise your name.” (v. 7, NIV).
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