More songs by COLORS
Description
Love here is not like on postcards - without pink clouds and vanilla confessions. Rather, it is like a sticky web: seemingly beautiful, but every step is sticky and dangerous. The voice trembles somewhere between regret and anger, as if a person is arguing with himself - to let go or try again.
The rhythm beats like a heartbeat at the moment when you realize that “we” have long since fallen apart into ‘I’ and “you.” And all that remains is this confession: I no longer want to sell myself for love. It may be painful, but at least it's honest.
Lyrics and translation
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