Lyric

A minimalist beat drives the track as jazzy textures and post-rock atmospheres take shape. A restrained spoken word cuts through, reporting fragments of the present moment.
Built from a single, unrepeatable improvisation session - guitar and laptop in the studio, reshaped into three dense minutes.
The spoken word is performed in Japanese. The following is an English translation of the lyrics.
A Saturday at the end of September.
The west exit at night - crowded, yet somehow
drowsing in its own silence.
Nine thousand kilometers away, in Berlin,
fifty thousand voices are swaying.
In this three-meter rental studio,
the sixth string groans, heavy.
Ten thousand kilometers away, in Rabat,
the shouts of young people echo at street corners.
In this three-meter rental studio,
the fourth string lifts a nasal cry.
The freshly changed nickel strings ripple and resonate.
To that extent, at least - the night air does not stagnate.
Like water running through a buried culvert,
our emotions are swept away without anyone knowing,
processed as though they never existed.
A thick soundproofed door, overflowing with noise.
A high fortress wall dividing the two sides of the overpass.
Even so - or perhaps because of that.