Description
The smell of ink and morning paper, where the first lines always sound a little awkward, like a letter that no one will read anyway. Flowers are plucked at random - petals fall into the past along with wasted hours, where “he loves me, he loves me not” stretches longer than calendars.
And then everything turns into a game: behind your back, tin cans tied to the tail of childhood jingle, and in this jingle there is a slight mockery of the seriousness of adult concerns. You can wave your hand, throw away the excess - let the wind sort it out. Someday it will blow in the right direction and bring exactly what slipped away before. And in this hope lies all the simple, stubborn joy of the song.
Lyrics: Ozan Turgut
Music: Gökhan Türkmen
Director: Gökhan Firat
Mixing and mastering: Ferin Kaya
Lyrics and translation
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