Fkt

Born under the sun. Experienced through the sand. Our it was a desert where nothing ever happened. Brought through the barricade. Disappeared in time. A time for living. A time for running. A time for playing. Forgetting the sound of water flowing through the stones, endless melody of violins, trees drown into wheat fields, glances not lived, unspoken words: we amuse ourselves with tapes and digital lullabies, we delight ourselves with words, chords and dusty gear.