A droning incandescent pulse under a skyline marred by the three towers of the power-station it's blinking red lights for no one. An exercise in taking the monotone to it's unmusical zenith.
A blasting howl perverted by the endless piles of rubble and scarred concrete that were once the heart of the city echoing on and on in septic waves of dissonance. The empty souls of the dying machines still speak though unheard. Destroying music like this city destroys itself.
The animals crawl and eat our garbage. We provide the filth. The sound of blood behind your ears in total silence. We are there.