I have chosen such a desolate night to let it fill the room. Sparse raindrops spread outside the window, their uneven and fleeting rhythms making the room I am in feel like a leaf deep in the mountain, slowly unfurling in a gentle breeze. I've chosen this illusion to let it fill the room. As if listening to the profound discourse of a hermit rich with life's truths, once again, with the anticipation of receiving a baptism, I place the record into the player and dim the lights inside - within this thin record resides a soul, the soul of a tribe singing. They come from a tranquility far removed from the clamor. Though they were born...