Cold 2 The Touch

A world where all sounds are as if burned out with a hot iron - even the echo is tired. Here, the rhythm doesn't save, but reminds you of a pulse that no longer exists. Echoes of anger and apathy merge into a viscous noise - like breath in the frost, which dissolves before it can become alive. In every "no," you hear not a protest, but an admission: the fuel is gone, the engine has run out of steam, the emotions have gone dormant. But strangely, there's a certain honesty in this icy emptiness. When everything is dead, lies die first.