Silence.
The Maestro raises his baton.
Motion.
A million sounds come together as one. They create songs.
Noise.
Malevolence distorts the sound, tearing holes in the concord.
The Maestro just sighs.
"You sort it out."
Silence again. No one was sure how to deal with this. For the first time music was on its own, no guiding hand leading it. And every tone became a voice, and every voice wanted someone dead.
That was how the Songfia was created.
This is how the Songfia ends...
Day ends Manic Monday, 8 PM GMT with a bit of leeway on the side. In a twelve-man setup it takes seven votes for majority.
Go nuts.
The Maestro raises his baton.
Motion.
A million sounds come together as one. They create songs.
Noise.
Malevolence distorts the sound, tearing holes in the concord.
The Maestro just sighs.
"You sort it out."
Silence again. No one was sure how to deal with this. For the first time music was on its own, no guiding hand leading it. And every tone became a voice, and every voice wanted someone dead.
That was how the Songfia was created.
This is how the Songfia ends...
Day ends Manic Monday, 8 PM GMT with a bit of leeway on the side. In a twelve-man setup it takes seven votes for majority.
Go nuts.