Kilka Gwiazdek

A rough note with a warm smirk - the streets where honor is more important than the number of followers, and pockets favor respect. Here, the sound is like a scar on the palm: raspy, honest, with the smell of broken glass and nite queues; the lines run like short diary entries about how life teaches you to pay for everything with your own. The culture of "not compromising" shines thru every phrase, but in that same stubbornness, you can also hear care for their own: if a brother is hungry, there's a plate nearby and a fist ready to defend. Irony smiles calmly at fleeting luxury - likes won't replace respect, and "karma" here sounds like a footnote to reality, from which there is no escape. The vocals are like settling old scores and turning them into a melody-answer: simple, harsh, honestly in their own way. The feeling is not the hero's story, but a note about a world where the street code and human warmth coexist, all set to a rhythm that doesn't forgive falsehood.