Die On This Hill

Pride is a strange currency. You can't buy love with it, but for some reason you always pay with it. It's as if everything here is built on stubbornness and quiet despair: standing your ground to the last, even when it's long been clear that your opponent won't take the field. The words sound like an argument in which it no longer matters who is right - just to prove that feelings are still alive, even if in a coma. The music swirls between humility and defiance, like a night in which only one bonfire remains, stubbornly burning despite the rain. And even if everything has long since lost its value, except for one thing: the ability to stand until the end, even if the “end” is just another song.