Texty:
Minsk Burning Demo

Such a vice, this doomed beauty. Must there be an opposition to bliss? By now he had come to know his fate, eons could prove to be no harm. The impendence

Can we transgress that sacred melody, that once lulled single selves into solidity? Can we dance and dismiss right-eousness joyously, and wander and

Whispered words. These walls breathe the inanity of accusation and a moment of gifting passes through what once was identity so that its dispersement