Póki to trwa

Rough, honest, and painfully recognizable - the words fly like shards of glass, but they form a complete picture. There is no gloss or posturing here, only the smell of concrete courtyards, the light of street lamps, and bitter irony: sometimes a ball, sometimes depression, sometimes a dealer with a hangover, but the plans for the day still crumble to dust.

Each verse sounds like a letter to oneself - with profanity, but truly alive. It's a strange truth that today everything is “normal,” but tomorrow it could all go to hell. But amid the chaos, music remains - the last thread to hold on to when others have already let go. And somewhere between the lines is a tired but stubborn promise: as it is said, so it will be.