The streetcar of desire, or the soul-stirring power of desire, which sometimes breaks down walls and sometimes builds walls within us. It impersonalizes and then depersonalizes us, like the music of a streetcar in a garage, which carries us into the field of desire, even if it rings in our sleep or howls silently when passion breaks us apart and then puts together the picture, which looks back like a distorted mirror, pulling up and then down our inner volume. Who is out and who is in? Who is the inspector and who is the passenger? Who drives the streetcar of our desires? Many questions with no clear answers: this is poetry that will make you feel and then let you go if fate so wishes. While the film of our lives rolls on and on.

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Original/Alternative Title: A Vágy Villamosa