Description
It smells of sweat, asphalt, and survival. People here don't dream - they count how many coins they have until tomorrow and laugh through gritted teeth, because that's the only way to get by. Every sound is a step on wet concrete, every line is a scar that doesn't hurt but reminds you. The world around them spins quickly, but they know their own: don't trust strangers' smiles, don't waste your soul on falsehood. Yesterday was dirty and hard, today is shine, motor, chains, the cold of the dashboard. And yet, inside, gratitude quietly sounds: for being alive, for having made it through, for no longer drinking water from strangers' hands.
Lyrics and translation
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