カメレオン

The world in that sound is like breathing through glass - you can see everything, but you can't touch it. Echoes of the old station, a slightly rusty wind between the words, and somewhere there - a person who was once known down to the last shadow of a glance. Now he seems to shimmer with new colours, foreign ones, but achingly beautiful. The track smells like rain, which starts without warning: first a light ripple across memory, then a downpour washing away old shades of feeling. But in place of what was erased, something new suddenly appears - not better, not worse, just different. And in this changeability, there is a quiet comfort: even the most unfulfilled things continue to live on the canvas if you have the courage to pick up the brush again.