At night, in a forest, a car veers off the road, spinning several times and finally landing, wheels up, on the stage of a theatre. For its two occupants, a new life will begin on the remains of the old one. The director and music-loving poet Thom Luz anticipates the afterlife in music.

In the nocturnal silence after the accident, the car radio broadcasts Mendelssohn's Songs Without Words. Between two pieces of music, a radio programme discusses philosophical questions, old balances upset and new relationships not yet defined.

Stunned, the two occupants of the car gradually discover what they have left. The headlights cast only a faint light, clumsy fireflies in the dark night. The trunk is torn open, perhaps revealing a tent and many books, the Bible and a detective novel, a dictionary, Thoreau's Walden, the Constitution. Were they leaving to reflect, away from the world, on its future? From now on it is no longer of any use: back from the dead, they are in the hereafter. And the world they discover is not devoid of surprises.

This is the starting point of Thom Luz's new creation, which leads two actors and a trio of musicians into another of his theatrical and musical reveries, with equal parts tenderness and ingenious imagination. Music and musicians accompany the injured in their new form of existence. For it is now a question of living in a world that no longer exists. And to ask, with Ödön von Horvath: when the State is in disarray and nature has collapsed, might Arcadia take the form of a choir?