There was something in the tree.
The sound of someone tapping their nails on the table.
Mom tended to be that way.
He couldn’t decide if it was the flu or the drinking last night.
There was something beautiful in his hate.
The wave crashed and hit the sandcastle head-on.
It was her first big lesson in life, but not the last.
U ovo nesretno doba kad sve manje repera uistinu poštuje reperski zanat i kada su stihovi postali beatovi, a beatovi postali stihovi dajemo priliku producentima da preuzmu glavnu riječ i pokažu što znaju.