Pochylone sosny (Leszy)

Wet moss underfoot, the wind breathing between the trunks - and suddenly it seems that the forest is not just alive, but watching intently. Here, every tree remembers more than it would like to, and the silence sounds louder than drums. The song is imbued with ancient fear and respect - the kind felt before forces that do not forgive arrogance but accept submission.

It smells of campfire smoke and old myths whispered when it is too late to return home. The music flows like the path itself - winding, calling, confusing. And the deeper you go into this forest, the clearer it becomes: not everything that seems like shadows is truly dead.