Rubber Band Man (with Hozier)

It's a bit like a diary entry written on the edge of a broken glass: it gently and knowingly acknowledges that nothing is truly eternal, but it does so with a smile. The voice is like a letter from another room: close in memory, far away in steps; the words stretch from the crack to the hole, like an old rubber bracelet that still holds its shape, even tho it already knows all its limits. There's no moralizing here – just a quiet survival guide: be flexible, not rigid, feed the birds if you feel like it, and don't hold the world in cement. Inner chaos is dressed in light, memories surface like a new tattoo at nite, and the request to "start over" sounds not dramatic, but childishly persistent. It's not a cry of loss, but a warm salute to what was once "forever," and yet you can still try to start again.