DRAGONS

The night smells of hashish and leather tags - as if someone decided to replace emotions with suitcases full of money and boxes of seals. Gray promises shatter against crystal chains, and everything is forgotten to the beat of the music: names, mistakes, other people's tears in the salon. Here, love is not a sacred thing, but a dangerous habit that makes you sick and leaves you wanting more; friendship is measured by loyalty in action, and devotion by the weight of medals around your neck.

Sarcasm slips between the lines, but the warmth remains: vulnerability hides behind bravado, and each verse is like a crumpled envelope with signs of life. Dust on your shoes, smoke in your lungs, money on the shelf, and a reflection that doesn't follow the rules - all of this sounds as indifferent and charming as a quiet cigarette after a loud argument.