Tipping Point

The night smells of punctures and adrenaline: words like buttons popping off the coat of truth, and music that seems to test the strength of patience. Here, every chorus is like a loud knock on the table: ‘crossed the line’ sounds not like a threat, but like a notification of a change in the rules of the game. The cold sound suggests that it is too late for peace of mind, and all that remains is to watch this neat chaos with a cup of strong sarcasm.

Inside is a small cathartic play: fear turns into a tactical tool, and the thirst for justice into an almost comical ritual. The ironically dry determination sounds warmer than expected: not revenge for revenge's sake, but a finale in which the voice finds its limit and calmly puts an end to it.