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Rating: Sometimes music can inspire thoughts.
Maybe it's all a dream. It's not the best to make someone fall in love, to bear the weight of a soul, to double the sufferings, to strive to give happiness, to suppress passions. A whining voice makes its way in an empty room where the sharp thread of a synthesizer blinds. Loneliness is the cause of all neuroses, the cause of every suicide, of death that leads to living by inertia. Even a sunset can turn black when you can't give it to anyone and every day a sunset reappears meeting your gaze. The flaw of men is to think that everything has a soul, that you can share something with machines, that objects can become an end instead of a means, and that you can meanwhile play with other people.
The melancholic and solitary march on a senseless road, this is how life becomes, and all the sun, all the neon and light bulbs stretching as you walk are not enough to light up the landscape, to bring some clarity, to understand what sense is hidden; but one hug is enough to inflame the heart.
How to solve problems, you should not face them, you need to run, a strong and full-bodied bass, tracked, a tank chasing you until you're exhausted; but why keep running, why not let yourself be gently crushed, why not sleep and never wake up again; let alcohol provide to cloud thoughts and disinhibit actions, pass control to the body, wake up even more unhappy and heavier, a mean boulder you can't get rid of, a fatigue that suffocates you, and suffocates you but doesn't let you die, it just suffocates you.
Dark blue. Smell of rain in the air.
Dedicated to someone.
Sweetnight.
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