Pekka

the car’s on fire and there’s no driver at the wheel, 
and the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides, and a dark wind blows
the government is corrupt, and we’re on so many drugs, with the radio on and the curtains drawn
we’re trapped in the belly of this horrible machine and the machine is bleeding to death
the sun has fallen down and the billboards are all leering, and the flags are all dead at 
the top of their poles, it went like this:

the buildings tumbled in on themselves, mothers clutching babies picked through the rubble
and pulled out their hair, the skyline was beautiful on fire, all twisted metal stretching upwards
everything washed in a thin orange haze, i said: “kiss me, you’re beautiful –
these are truly the last days”, you grabbed my hand and we fell into it like a daydream or a 
fever, we woke up one morning and fell a little further down –
for sure it’s the valley of death.