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When morning isn't the start of the day, but a repeat of yesterday's mistakes. When the world seems to be spinning on a centrifuge, lifting you up only to throw you back down again. And even doctors with intelligent expressions write prescriptions generated somewhere between boredom and Google Docs - they certainly don't understand vibes.

Here, pain is served with self-irony, like a chef's dish: a little despair, a pinch of anger, and all of it under a chilling sauce of meaninglessness. It seems as if the hero has long since grown tired of living, but still turns on repeat - cutting, knocking, hiding, singing. And in this, oddly enough, there is life. Rough, ugly, but honest.