specialsadism

The words seem to melt into smoke, but the mood is immediately apparent - a night-time search for that one person who constantly slips away. All around - the moon, the foggy sky, cigarettes with a taste of bitter truth. It all sounds like a confession that slipped out at the most inopportune moment: raw, slightly chaotic, but all the more honest for it.

It seems that reality is blurred - either the acid smoke or my own tears are preventing me from seeing the road. But in this blurred world, there is constant movement: footsteps under the moon, letters that no one will read, and the eternal ‘searched’ that rhymes with ‘lost.’ The music walks a fine line between despair and hope, as if the air itself vibrates with unspoken words.

The irony of fate is that the most personal experiences turn out to be louder than any words. When there is nothing left to explain, all that remains is to walk into the night, to the sound of your own echo and the rhythm of the beat, which reminds you that your heart is still beating.