Communication's state of play
It's a girl who sings. She says her name is Grise. She is brunette and small. His voice is sweet but spicy too. It's almost Rock n'roll as she releases her poetry. Sometimes she hums, sometimes she screams, she sings life, death, love. And then, there is a guy with a good boil near her who, he makes pretty, sweet, round. She says it's her Cornac. He scrapes wooden instruments; he has a guitar, and a cello; and when he plays their strings, it looks like Grise is flying away.