SWAT

The city as a ritual: morning, noon, evening - the mantra ‘appliquer matin, midi, soir’ repeats itself, and in this monotonous fragmentation, both discipline and fatigue can be heard. Here, everything is measured by numbers and routes - sold, returned, passed, did not wait for outside help. The repetitive phrases sound like notes in a survivalist's diary: short, insistent, slightly tired and ironic.

At its core lies the harsh poetry of street contracts and long-range shots, but between the lines there is a warm glow: kisses on a bench and a bank that should shine with more than just numbers. Loyalty is declared almost solemnly: don't betray, don't ask, lift up your own, even if bullets and counters are flying around.

Musically, it's like a revved-up engine: the rhythm pushes forward, the words work like pistons, and the atmosphere oscillates between combat readiness and ordinary human affection. Nothing superfluous - just movement, calculation, and small, unusual signs of tenderness amid concrete plans.