The record company will try again. They gave us new breakthroughs, lived and moved on to new equipment. But I was empty and I had no idea.

So I decided to write 12 songs without worrying about whether they made sense, if they were catchy, or not interesting or anything. We just started singing and we needed something naked, something that needed to be improved. But I could only write 10 songs. It wasn't even a song. Everyone relaxed about the books I read at university. Some were for the same book because I hadn't read many books in college. They are vague, surreal, nonsense arriving at a bald chain. Some thoughts.

All the threads I tried to follow were finally separated.

All the sounds seemed dull and out of place.

While the rest of the band improvised with my predictable lyrics and my refrain, I thought, but not the music. Only a dream girl. I did not understand. And each time the group looked at me and cut me, my dreams became more distant and vague. The emotions, location and sound of her voice fade, merging with other memories and dreams.

To continue playing for the rest of the group, I made arbitrary intentional requirements for each song to report that I had invested deeply in my vision for the entire album. I claimed to have claimed something wild and frustrating. I desperately portrayed a very specific and predictable character and persuaded them to trust me.

Each song was wonderful in itself in a special way.

But in most cases, all of the songs were boring.