Nobody cares who we are and what we do here.
We wipe the makeup off our face, we have nothing to hide.
Amid the noise of trams and the crowd, our firm steps are almost not heard. We beat our own rhythm.
Nobody cares what we're doing here. As long as we feel, we live. These feelings are carried by current discharges through our nerves, and we rush through the streets leaving the past behind
(4502 x 6191; PNG; 48,3 Mb)