Tsunami

The hum of the street seems to be stuck in my chest, rattling along with the beat – that same raspy sound where every word smells of sweat, smoke, and anxiety. Everything revolves around survival: between tasks and chores, between faith and fatigue. When there's no sun, you have to warm yourself from your own mistakes, even tho they burn. His speech is like a clenched fist: no excuses, no pity. Only cold calculation, anger at fate, and a strange pride in having survived at all. Beneath layers of bronze chains and polar jackets, the guy who doesn't sleep, doesn't dream, but still hopes that somewhere ahead there's not just merchandise and debts, but at least a little peace. The music is pumping, like the asphalt under your feet after a nite shift is trembling slightly, but holding. And from this it becomes clear: even in the mud, you can sound clean if you know the value of your noise. Producer: SHK Composer: SHK Lyricist: Favé Lyricist: Timar