Texty:
Lower Than Atlantis Far Q

Dear Dad, I think about you every now and then, I hope to God that I don?t turn out like you as I grip this pen. Every time you cross my mind, I cross

Street lights shine bright, illuminating Watford High Street on a Monday night. Fat slags are ?dressed to kill? with their short skirts barely covering

on the train or bus, then get into work and discuss their opinions on dumbed down politics, the politicians and their dirty tricks. I?m not saying that I know much more than

Wishing I was someone else, It?s my own fault that I?m fucked up but I still worry about my mental health. I?ve g-g-got a stutter and the memory of a

sudden feeling of four walls. Kill me now before boredom does, I?ll be bored 6ft under the boring world above. Bored, B-O-R-E-D, I?m bored-er than paint

I know my lyrics aren?t the best you?ve ever heard, But I say what I mean and I mean every fucking word. I?m sick of listening to narrow minded pricks

I?ve been collecting music for so long, today I turned on my laptop and it?s all gone. I opened my iTunes and it?s bare, I can?t find the albums I downloaded