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The alien fairy tale of "teeth and nails" unravels on the cobblestone-paved Roman imperial Via Francigena, shaping the footprints of Karel IV with music that doesn’t shy away from regal oddities. We can say that it's a propriety not widely known, an esoteric formula of appeasement to an invisible madness near us but not perceptible with conventional senses.

Grin and claw are revealed with a feminine filter that invites tempting witchcraft but creates an anxious heartache that contagiously draws visions into the buî corners of each of our dollhouses.

The enchanting rhythm stirs normally still areas, surprising us by realizing an unanticipated biomechanics. Indeed, the movements feel familiar but distant, as if an ancient antiquity managed to light up very distant déjà vus that simultaneously slow down and accelerate sensations we know we have experienced but cannot frame in space-time.

There is this elusive suspension that reassures us in reliving agitated paradises, igniting a curiosity towards ourselves where immersion in an unexpected dimension makes us doubt what reflects back at us in the mirror.

The lullabies are ripe for a sway that transports us to shores where considerations and presences are disconnected, where the flow also contains your particles. Let us, therefore, eschatologize...