PLATYNOWE

Restless nights smell of overheated concrete and coffee from plastic cups. The world seems to be spinning, but the sound of glass crunching underfoot reminds you how many shards remain. Everything glitters, but not from gold - from the reflections of lamps on the broken floor. This isn't about luxury, but about survival at a pace of 120 bpm, when the only thing “platinum” is nerves stretched to breaking point.

Every line is like a check that no one will pay, but it's a shame to tear it up. Between the studio and lack of sleep, something real is born: a little dirty, a little daring, but alive. No one here is looking for answers, they just keep the beat while the world outside pretends that everything is under control.