In this solemn nothingness, an orchestra starts playing, stone chapels, red berries and a quiet world praying. It is freedom we seek, a village of clay; the war is over, so we choose to stay. Goddesses to pilgrims, the scenery has changed, same eyes, same gaze, same faith, mbascìe.

Horto è un'indagine botanico-musicale sinestesica sulla tematica primordiale di enclave.

Still red, at sea, concrete, down go the tyrants, aboard the jester with the drumbeat, the fleet of currants.