Prz3pi3rdolił3m kupę siana

Sometimes life turns into one continuous cycle of ‘drinking, gambling, losing.’ Money disappears, time burns away, friends vanish, and then all that remains is memory - and your mother's voice somewhere deep inside. The same voice that always said that everything could still be fixed.

The words are rough, intoxicated, and weary with remorse. Between the verses, there is the smell of cheap rum, youth, and foolishness, which once made your head spin. And suddenly it becomes clear: the most beautiful world is the one that remains on the other side of the bars. And in it is your mother. The only one who still cares.