Alamosa

Snow falls on the road, as if trying to cover yesterday's mistakes with a thin white blanket. Everything lies ahead - some forgotten city with a name that sounds both tired and hopeful at the same time. The wind whistles in the gaps between words, and the guitar seems to shake its head - as if to say, it's all been done before, you're just going back to where you once listened to the rain and believed that everything could start again.

It smells of petrol, wet earth and a hint of regret. But step by step, to the rhythm of hoarse vocals, this regret turns into warmth - as if someone has finally decided not to run away, but simply to live what remains, honestly and to the end.