CAOS

It's cold, but hot at the same time: the beat rustles like rain on asphalt, and suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds. The text offers an honest formula for growing up: frost → pain → growth. The pressure of the stopwatch, a step back, and a precise throw at the last moment. Flames all around, but the dance floor turns even the dampest night into a bonfire.

The irony here is soft, almost affectionate: ‘throw it back before the problems are forgotten.’ The taste of a sweet, distracting catastrophe - where destruction and creation dance side by side, like two sides of the same impulse. Better to pinch than to fade: colour is chosen by touch, between white stripes and blue dreams. And each chorus seems to remind us that the rain will pass and the light will pierce the clouds again.