I'm recording this, because this could be the last thing I'll ever say. The city I once knew as home is teetering on the edge of radioactive oblivion. A three-hundred thousand degree baptism by nuclear fire. I'm not sorry, we had it coming.
A surge of white-hot atonement will be our wake-up call. Hope for our future is now a stillborn dream. The bombs begin to fall and I'm rushing to meet my love.