RIP ITALIAN RAP

The city noise settles heavily in my chest, like dust on the old sneakers of those very people for whom I once wanted to bite thru the world. Everything grew out of the cold, out of the harsh breath of winters, where instead of fairy tales, they taught you to take a punch and not flinch. Music bursts in like a knife into concrete: not for fame, but to remind us that art is also made from pain. Every line rings with anger, like an empty bottle after a fight, and yet there's a strange warmth in it: the very thing that remains with those who survived and are now laughing from the couch, remembering the frost, the cheap sweater, and the first lessons in street literacy.