YAMAL

The noise in my head is like the city is spinning at breakneck speed and has no intention of slowing down. Every moment is like drifting between other people's names, messages, and phone flashes. Gold around the wrists, engines, and someone's always on the line, even though inside, they've been on the verge of a breakdown for a long time. The glitter seems to save from boredom, but beneath it, you can hear that same nerve – a mixture of self-confidence and weariness from their own legend. Everything seems to be under control: the numbers are growing, the girls are writing, the engine is roaring. Only in the pauses between verses does a faint smell of smoke emerge, and the feeling that behind all this "devil" is a guy who just doesn't know how to stop.