RAPSINCORTE 55

The night sky above the neighborhood smells of chemicals and resentment - as if every word were scratched onto the wall and illuminated by a streetlight. Here, righteousness is not a formula, but a scar, and the laws look like a suit on a thief: respectable, but sticky. The vocals walk along these cracks like tiles after rain - hoarse, decisive, and with a hint of bitter irony, as if someone in the kitchen is cooking soup from political sarcasm.

The song has both rage and craftsmanship: comparisons with ashes and firecrackers are more of a desire to wake up the city than an instruction. The world is described through the smells of prison, through sweat and smoldering cigarettes, through how faith in justice dissolves into routine. It sounds like a notebook in which every line stings: painful, funny, and humanly warm, because the anger here is almost like caring for one's own.