Уходя

Sometimes it seems like the city itself is pushing you away - with noise, lights, people with empty eyes and phones instead of faces. And then you just want to close the door tightly behind you so that this draft of unspoken words and fatigue doesn't pull you back. Everything seems to be alive, but no longer in unison. Your pulse is beating in the wrong direction, the days are flipping by like someone else's calendar, and inside, there is some kind of internal exodus, without suitcases, but with the feeling that you will never return home the same.

The track sounds like an attempt to cleanse yourself of the dust of the past, to pick out the old pain, while the world rushes on. A little dirty, a little beautiful - like a city after rain. And somewhere there, between fatigue and hope, you can hear a quiet “waiting” - as if someone has remained on the other side of that closed door after all.