INDUSTRY MACHINE

Hollow, with a smirk, as if someone had entered a room that was too quiet and immediately turned on the light. Here, strength is not ostentatious, but lived - like someone who has already been knocked down, but has just dusted himself off and moved on, even louder. The words cut and laugh at the same time, the rhythm deliberately limps - to make it feel alive, not manufactured.

Here, the black sheep does not ask for approval - she dances on the ruins of other people's opinions, clicking her teeth with pleasure. And while the rest argue about where normality ends and chaos begins, it is already drinking champagne, with the shadow of legend behind it and a slight contempt for everything that is ‘right’. The world may have wanted justice, but it got a party at the scene of the crime.