FYL2

The pulsating beat seems to be knocking in your temples - not from dancing, but from anxiety. The words cut into the air like ragged confessions: they seem to be about love, but it turns out to be about mistrust, about wounds that are carried under the skin and are not shown to anyone. It’s funny, of course, that all this happens to the music, from which one usually expects a club drive, but here the club seems to be inside the heart, with a neon sign “don’t leave.”

He seems tough, with his “toys” and street bravado, but he sounds like a man who is afraid of being alone. Each line contains this strange mixture of bravado and request: don’t lie, don’t leave, give me a chance. It turns out to be a track paradox: it shakes the body, but touches the very places that are usually hidden behind the back.