Los

It's as if a map of the world is spread out right on the kitchen table - only instead of routes, there are dreams and traces of mugs. The words sound like a quiet conspiracy for good luck: run, search, build your home where someone else's horizon ends.

There is no boring ‘stop’ in this song, it's all about movement, about the sweet fatigue of the journey and the strange stubbornness to go where nothing awaits. The melody lulls you like a train at night, and the lyrics whisper: everything will be found - a home, yourself, and that very wind that will become your tailwind.