All’Alba (“At Dawn”) is a song suspended between dream and reality—a slow, sensual awakening where the warmth of the night lingers in the soft light of morning. It opens with a cinematic image: “The moon disappears behind the hills / A slow breath makes its way / Through silk sheets,” drawing the listener into an intimate scene where time seems to stop.

The lyrics portray the loved one as a living work of art: “Every curve a poem / Every breath a song.” Here, passion is not loud or hurried—it is measured, almost sacred, as dawn transforms the fire of the night into a tender glow. Between verses, desire blends with peace: “I breathe you while you sleep / Like a queen / In the silence of the morning / I find paradise.”

Sunlight becomes an accomplice, “Between the blinds and the legs / It almost feels like a hand / Reaching for your face,” merging light and touch in a moment of pure intimacy. The arrangement mirrors this atmosphere—warm, enveloping, alternating between quiet pauses and emotional surges, following the natural rhythm of breath.

All’Alba is more than a love song—it’s a meditation on presence, on the rare beauty of moments when two souls completely belong to each other. It’s an ode to contrasts—fire and calm, hunger and serenity—reminding us that the most unforgettable instants are those we can’t fully explain, but can keep alive forever through music