Run

Speed smells like gunpowder and warm asphalt: news flies faster than unnumbered motorcycles, ambitions shimmer like Bezos's rocket display. In the radio interference, there are unfamiliar names, behind are those who had to be left behind, ahead is a city that opens with a "kind word" and closes with a siren. The heart is working in a "step-by-step" mode, but the state spotlight still dreams of pressing the "off" button. Inside, there's the crunch of metal and prayer beads; outside, there's a wet eagle on a hoodie and rain under the hood. This is music about those who are carrying their prey back to the village while also searching for a map to stay on course. The beat is like a gate that lifts at the last moment: you almost miss it, but you still get thru. A little bitter, a little sassy - and loud enough not to get lost.