Description
Like a dance on the edge of patience and flashes of resentment: words beat out a rhythm like heels on the tiles of a wet train station. The voice is not a complaint, but a ringing warning: enough games, enough tricks with trust. The sweet beat hides a cold “I won't allow it anymore,” like shiny wrapping hides bitter caramel. And all this is delivered with such directness that it seems like it's not a song, but a bold “stop” sign in a club where the lights have just been turned off.
Lyrics and translation
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