LE MÔME

Memories smell of gasoline and mint, and a voice breaks through the cracks of childhood like light through a gap in the blinds, sometimes stinging, sometimes warming. The images of a burnt shirt, windows you want to fly through, and scar patterns on clothing form a rough but tender mosaic: here, struggle and a childlike belief in wings are mixed, despair coexists with a kind of almost naive desire to be saved. The chorus sounds like a quiet good news, a promise of flight for a tired angel, and in this hope there is both comfort and a bitter smile: forgiveness is postponed, but it can be imagined as an old jacket lost on a branch, but still warm. It sounds like a diary, where the entries are full of scars and medicine, but every now and then there's a line where the world tries to breathe freely.