We checked out where the market square once stood. My god, there’s just
A hole. It’s choking wreck to wreck, truck to truck, the bumpers
Bumping, sirens scream, but mothing seems to move, the collar’s open,
Sweat jets running down the windows, elbows pressed against the horns.
No one’s going anywhere at all.(x2) It’s not a place for me and my
Canary [???]. Please me, pretty, pretty please me.[repeat last line
Until the end]
