Protiva - Po Betonu (prod. Beatjunkie Rato) →

The beat dropped—heavy, metallic, and unforgiving. He started to walk.

By the time the track faded into a haunting, hollow echo, Protiva reached the bridge overlooking the highway. Below him, the headlights of cars blurred into a river of white and red. He looked down at his shoes, dusted with the fine gray powder of the city.

Should we lean more into the of the city or focus on the internal monologue of the lyrics for the next part? Protiva - Po betonu (prod. Beatjunkie Rato)

The streetlights on the outskirts of Prague didn’t shine; they hummed, a low-frequency buzz that vibrated through the soles of Protiva’s worn-out sneakers. The Beatjunkie Rato production was already bleeding through his headphones—a cold, rhythmic pulse that felt less like music and more like the internal machinery of the city itself.

He passed a playground where the swings groaned in the wind—metal on metal, a perfect sample for a nightmare. He remembered sitting there years ago, dreaming of a way out. Now, he realized the "out" wasn't a destination; it was the movement. As long as he was moving po betonu , he was alive. The hardness of the ground gave him something to push against. It was the only thing that didn't give way when life got heavy. The beat dropped—heavy, metallic, and unforgiving

He stepped off the curb and onto the gray expanse. Po betonu. On the concrete.

He didn't need a stage. He didn't need a spotlight. As long as the concrete held, he had a foundation. He turned around and headed back into the dark, his footsteps the only percussion left in the night. Below him, the headlights of cars blurred into

“Every crack in the sidewalk is a verse I haven’t finished yet,” he muttered under his breath, his rhythm locking into Rato's steady, industrial loop.