plasticwrap
The sea has come to the city: the city rots at its roots. Any living things have found or built bridges and nests in the canopy and fly hither and thither and only the predators that can swim and fly remain. No more dead dogs. No more trams, no more cars, no more buses, no more noise except the soft slow metronome of the sea crashing against concrete forever and ever. And, of course, your voice castigating me. I know no peace from you even here in this wasteland: you are always with me.
Favorite track: the waves speak.