Prismatica

It sounds like an ancient whisper woven into the pulse of time. Latin words flow like a spell, in which each syllabic echo makes the space breathe differently. The music is unhurried, stretching out in thick layers, like darkness in which the outlines of fire are visible - not bright, but smouldering, stubborn.

This is not just a melody, but a sense of ritual: footsteps in a stone hall where the walls remember more than people do. In every pause there is room for imagination, in every chord there is a viscous mixture of mysticism and eternity. The song sounds as if the night itself is singing its hymn.