Sława

Morning comes too early - as if the night grew tired, abandoned everything, and left without saying goodbye. The air is thick with strangers' words, where fame smells like plastic and truth smells like bitterness. The world buzzes, everyone rushing to be seen, but the louder the noise, the stronger the feeling of emptiness.

Phrases seem to pour out of a broken speaker: pain, fatigue, anger, a little shame. Everything is mixed up, like in your head after a sleepless week. There are no heroes here - only people tired of justifying themselves for other people's rules. Those who sell their conscience for views, and those who simply can no longer remain silent.

In each verse, you can hear an attempt to shout out - not to the crowd, but to the heart itself. After all, it seems that the only thing that can still be saved is the ability to feel. Even against the backdrop of a gray world, where empathy has long been locked away, and everyone has lost the key.