I created this world to feel some control I can destroy it if I want the truth is that nothing really matters, When nothing is made to last, I just hold my breath while I wish for death. Time swallows everything, even my own creations. What’s left when the last chord fades? Just silence. And yet, I keep making music, because, perhaps, the only way to cope with boredom is to do this, if only to watch it disintegrate before my eyes. Music is a reflection of that constant struggle, that futile search for something I’ll never find. But here I am, stuck in this cycle, making it, knowing that in the end it’s just a momentary distraction from the inevitable.