Спаси меня (feat. Ёлка)

It smells of something elusively Parisian - morning coffee on the table by the window, rain running down the shop window, and a slight weariness from one's own style. Everything seems careless: words slip away, phrases crumble, music rolls like a wave over cobblestones. But beneath this scattered carelessness lies a subtle calculation. It's as if someone is thoughtfully clicking a pen, choosing between love and laziness, between fashion and reality.

This sound is an evening when you don't want to go anywhere. Let the world bustle about, running around in its “new regimes” and “latest series” - here you can just stay in silence and let melancholy sound beautiful. Even boredom sounds accented.