Lárgate

The room contains an improvised arsenal of emotions: an unused axe, a bottle of poison in the bar, and a pistol that is lovingly cleaned as if it were a fluffy toy. All of this is displayed on a shelf next to a soft pillow for hugging - a contradiction that simultaneously tickles and stings. The mood of the song is theatrical and ironic, like an evil lullaby sung in a half-sleep.

The words contain a neat playlist of cruelty: the plan for revenge is described sensually and humorously, and the photo on the wall becomes a target for darts. Jealousy turns into home decor, destruction into ritual, and the promise of ten thousand ways into hyperbole, in order to talk about one's own resentment in a humanly funny and slightly scary way.

This feeling is like a diary entry where sarcasm coexists with warmth, and the desire to disappear from another's sight is wrapped in melodramatic packaging. The song seems to smile through gritted teeth: painfully, sharply, and with the quiet joy of liberation.