Востаннє востаннє

A rough confession on adrenaline is like talking to a mirror after a long battle. The words here are not poetry, but scars that measure the lessons lived: where is style and where is hack, where to open your soul and where to clench your teeth. Every step along the blade is a risk of breaking, but also a way to survive without losing yourself.

In the chorus, the mantra “rise” sounds like a spell: the last cigarette, the last mistake, the last attempt to convince yourself that things are definitely different now. You hear it like the roar of an internal engine, which has already learned to fall and get up, and now laughs through clenched teeth, measuring a new circle along its thin edge.