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A boisterous night where words become blows. Everything around rings, trembles, and shimmers with the thumping ‘thump-thump’ - as if the concrete walls of the studio are breathing along with the beat. No one here pretends to be gentle: rudeness, intoxication and bravado merge into one long echo. It's not about meaning - it's about power, about how loudly you can live to forget who you are under all this noise, at least for a couple of minutes.

Every line conveys a mixture of fatigue and bravado - as if a person were shouting into a mirror to convince themselves that everything is under control. Like, yes, it's chaos, but it's my chaos, and it sounds cooler than silence. And in the end, what remains is not aggression, but a strange relief: as if he exhaled everything he had accumulated and remained standing among the bass and sparks, tired but still alive.