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Something primitive lurks beneath the surface - as if the world is learning to be an adult again. Everything is fragile, as if the body has not yet grown under the weight of its own bones, but is already building space for those who will come later. Hunger is not about food, but about meaning, about the urge to understand why all this is happening. In these sounds, there is weariness with oneself and a strange consolation: one can be imperfect, unspoken, but alive. The music grows, like a breath after a long silence, straightening shoulders and bones - for the future.