♫♫When I said I could never leave, it was a dream to meet♫♫
"Max, brother, what are we doing here? Let's go, I'm going crazy!"
Toraman's insane delirium was responded to by the warnings of the +60-year-old listeners and the reproachful sounds they made by banging their tongues on their palates. I wonder who came up with blaming people by making noises like a winged game, and he may be at the forefront of history's most useless inventions.
If you ask why our shaman is behaving like this, I would say we should leave this conversation until after the woman, who will remove the rust from our ears, enters the song.
♫♫The flowers of the gardens of love have always withered, the flowers have always faded♫♫
The cracks in the sound coming from the stage toward the audience are visible. Our situation is that dire. Where are we? We are in the middle of a torture session called Tırt Sesler's Second Spring Turkish Music Society Choir, End of The Year, Music Feast Concert.
