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The flapping wings of a broken-winged bird are a metaphor for freedom - the wings cut through the dust of fate, and when you wake up from the dream, they have already sunk into the dust of blood and rust. And the desire to fly has never been extinguished: even if the tears condense into chains, even if the fishy wind blows over the steps of the temple. I will still peck through the cage of reincarnation, pick up the forgotten fireflies in the ruins with my scorching mouthpiece, and become the first light that tears through the eternal night. The reincarnation of dreams, the eternal cage... Now that you are free, where should you go... Nowhere to look for, freedom or a new prison...