Sims - May 1st lyrics

I mean I'm the means to my own ends Ending at the fact that I'm waiting for A straw to crack my already bending back And then I snap Now where the f** Sims is at? My limbs are cracked, forced to play the wolf Chewing the cuff put glue in the cuts and move on Giving a shrug to nuance Given the way I'm living is similar to a prison Inside I'm a blizzard outside is the image put on to survive the sight I'm torn up inside tonight Trying to find what's right, trying to blind what's wrong Trying to find some light, so I glide on songs But the design ain't right and the siren's on So I'm out running again Ducking the f**ing gun in my head Somedays I can't face myself, afraid my face might melt And it'll taste like hell, I can't handle it Dismantling, the stitches are falling out This is Andrew Sims' sorry self flipping the f** out And I can't go back to back sleep Well I'm up and I'm stuck running amuck in a rut And I can't go back to sleep In '82 I mainly knew that something wasn't right But baby grew and found a crew that bruises tons of mics I'm under pressure, bottle that up He makes a record I gotta follow that up? Follow that? Lace some new kicks and lay some new footprints Afraid I might buckle, bust my knuckles trying to break through bricks So I build a wall around myself so I don't have to face that sh** Or taste the failing, chase the flailing loose ends Now where are the saline solutions? Escapee h*mosapien who found his haven in bruises Definitely deafened by the daily deprecate But it ain't self hate, I just never walk on eggshell crates Some days it's plain it's just time to face, reevaluate Like I wonder if this record's gonna get to Then I rethink, I guess I don't give a f** Wait, wait, yeah I do I guess we all just want to be loved I ain't proud of that fact but I ain't no angel I'm just an honest man trying to buy Mom and Dad the promised land I'm just an honest man trying to buy Mom and Dad what I can If I was cut by the groove what the f** would that prove? Now should I open up and show my wounds to you? // Or should I make some songs that make the room say “Doomtree” This is the maze that I maneuver through See I could break them through the roof and convince to you that it's ablaze But would it make a f**ing difference in these apathetic days? I'm more invested in bad credit, breaks and nervous rhymes This one's for the cats who caught the itch on the inside This one's for the masterpiece bathed in turpentine Half my time is stupid rhymes, buying dimes, and bleeding eyes The other twelve is spent waiting for my soul on a shelf And I know I'm going to hell