1. |
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2. |
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|
Bored in the face of beauty
The summer’s high
Above the empty sky
Nothing to hold the eye
Beautiful city
Folks young and pretty
Everyone so witty
A perfect face
Everything in place
Brussels lace
Conformity bears monotony
Don’t you feel bored, like me?
A chatty small talk
After eating white chalk
Moving in crabwalk
Me and you
We tasted sweet and true
A gum I’m so tired to chew
Equanimity bears apathy
Spotlessness spoils the eye
Harmony killed you and me
Can’t you see
|
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3. |
My own private vortex
10:58
|
|||
|
My own private vortex
Empty me
With no world inside
And no place to be or hide
Yawning void
All sensations are blurred
Before they emerge from the deep
With that iron hoop round my chest
Everything I once held dear
Appears dull and ridiculously stale
Even you get pale
I’m ashamed by the love in your eyes
And what they may see in me.
Don’t cry for me
I’m far beyond tears now
This house is vacant and I don’t care
I can see
My picture on the shelf
But I can’t find myself inside me
Yesterday wen’t down the drain
Will tomorrow follow that lane?
|
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4. |
Behind closed curtains
06:00
|
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|
Behind closed curtains
Frida’s back in town
From captivity in Russia
A nurse on battleground
Between young men brutalized
Not once, not once did she speak of the things she endured
60 years of hidden tears and gone
It’s our fatal tradition
Don’t let go
Keep the curtains closed
Don’t embarrass the people around you
Go on
Wilhelmine raised her youngest son alone
When she delivered him
Both husband and firstborn were gone
Not once, not once did they see each other weeping
Underneath the portraits on the wall
|
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5. |
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|
The mirror retains the flower I bejeweled with
I remember
In the mirror
Eyes with hunger
For life – long ago
Along the ditch
I had an itch
To bend every flower
On gods fresh meadow
Collecting hearts
Like business-cards
Became decoration
To my ego
Spring passed by
Summer died
Then the leaves fell
Where could I go
The flowers gone
All alone
In that mirror
A face I don’t know
And that old hunger where did it go
I’ve digested but I’m so fed up still
Looking for comfort – I feel ill
No need for thrill
I ran all the way – what did I know
What’s left is a winters chill
|
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6. |
Brazil
10:46
|
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|
Brazil
The skin of my graced knees ain’t gone
From the streets you unconcernedly stroll upon
Through your life
My teenage-pride my self-esteem
Lies in the mud you grow your greens upon
And you scrape off the soles of your boots
In everything I do or say
Your spiteful laughter makes its way to me
And I return to the schoolyard
In thousand sleepless nights or more
I think of ways to humiliate you to the core
Will I ever get rid of you
Humbled, torn, crown of thorns
Bloody, blunted wally
Petty, bourgeois folly
|
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Ghost Valley Choir Köln, Germany
Als Lo-Fi Projekt Ding in tiefer Melancholie zum fünfköpfigen Spross mit mehr Melodie in Richtung Slow-Core-Sound, von Münster nach Köln, mit wenig Interesse an Szene, dafür an Liedern über Entfremdung und Wahnsinn. 90% der Titel sind grundsätzlich in E-Moll. (Never change a winning team!) ... more
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