Асфальт

The connection has been lost again - either on the phone or between hearts. The feed is empty, spring is in the yard, but inside, there is nothing. The asphalt glistens from the rain, like eyes after a sleepless night, and it seems as if the city itself is singing along to this broken dance. Words get mixed up, calls hang on, but I'm still drawn to where the answer might be. A little drama, a little ambiguity - and an eternal desire to press ‘repeat’ again.

Producer Artur Astvatsatryan