Teary Eyed

A chronicle of speed, where the engine roars louder than conscience, and banknotes rustle like rain on the hood. The streets are an arcade: press a button and the scene changes, internet heroes evaporate faster than smoke. Trust is a luxury, family is the only filter; the rest flashes in the background in neon. The bass pounds your ribs, syllables click like machinery, and everything pulls you toward the glitz - chains, speed, the winning high score. The smell of gasoline and onion gas makes your eyes water without sentimentality - pure road chemistry. It's not about romance: it's about survival in top gear, when likes are not valued, and cash and gas explain everything for you.