Closer to the edge, grinding out: The bite of a stake! Antebellum...

Pogoanele dethrones all the painful memories, while you step into it. All the children that have gone before, out of this dream, don't forget to get back here, in sweet redemption. I remember one moment when I struggled to forget and I lost myself in empathy and ferocious hitting. I went down in flames, buried in oblivion, where the past was running free and I fell short of glory, lost in my toxic faith. One day, maybe we will meet again... to rebuild the road to Caldaresti. It's a trip into the wild, on a dusty route, full of deep holes which digs abyssal scars into our bodies, with cold groove. Like an historical ritual, the 'a lot of kilometers' travel begins when the sun reach its zenith. The brain says 'stop!', but our feet, free of muscles are keep walking. People scan us and witness how we are being melted by the heat. The wind is shaking us and all the sins escape in the air. The roars of cows, the bright rust of the former factories and the sound of the trains mark the near station. Its shade is causing us an early amnesia. We're tripping by the railway, we march through powder and we pass the border to Caldaresti. A new challenge to face off, in a village where there is no symbiosis with the rest of the world. After a few kilometers, again, we're spinning towards Pogoanele and we're climbing a famous tight bridge, which was rehabilitated at the beginning of the present century. Under it, the football stadium collects all the waste stone, fallen after a big truck crossed the bridge. Up on the bridge, in the past, we shared a good vision at the great matches between old local rivals. Moving forward to top of it, from the bottom, you can already feel the sense of Pogoanele. A half of the mission was accomplished and now a desert way leads only to Pogoanele, the only place where you can find again, signs of civilization, like a sprain of the destiny. Back to origins, in Pogoanele where the venom of the blood is the only feeling, which pumps in our hearts, poisoned dreams, right out of our minds, over and over again, because... Pogoanele is repetition!