Nie mów mu nic

It smells of sweat, smoke, and sweet alcohol. Everything shimmers with lights, like a cheap disco galaxy where no one thinks about tomorrow. The music pounds in your temples like an overly honest friend, and the floor vibrates from heels that have long since lost their sense of moderation. This is no place for morality - only heated glances, sweaty palms, and a little guilt put off “until later.”

Dancing is a way to forget yourself, a quiet protest against boredom and propriety. Every verse is a pinch of cynicism, every line a wink through the fog of light and sound. Everything is too loud, too frank, and therefore strangely alive. After all, sometimes, in order to save face, you just need to stop pretending.

Producer: Mateo

Vocals: Popek

Composer: Mateusz Schmidt.

Lyrics: Paweł Mikołajew