pentecost of living

A deep bass, a hoarse voice, and a confession carved out of street truth. There is no heroism here - only survival on instinct, where faith and sin live in the same line. The world around is grey, cold and straightforward, like concrete, but from this concrete a rhythm still breaks through, in which a tired but stubborn heart beats.

The words cut like a blade - not out of malice, but because otherwise they won't be heard. This is the music of a man who grew up in the midst of fire but still talks to God, even if it's through the smoke. No illusions, only honesty - heavy as the street, but pure as the morning air after a gunshot.