More songs by Lacrim
Description
Weekdays are preserved in the refrigerator, and weekends are somewhere between the noise of the engine and the smell of banknotes. Everyone is running, some after money, some from the police, some just to avoid thinking. The air smells of asphalt and fatigue, but the rhythm doesn't slow down: just a little more, and you can breathe out, at least for a minute. The music here is not about fame or pain - it's about the cycle of concrete hustle and bustle, where even the snow seems powdery, and the phrase “everything is under control” sounds like a mantra for those who have been living at speed for a long time.
Lyrics and translation
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