Melodic stanzas

are symphonizing their way

through your weary head



To feed your distrust

And fill it's mouth with the desire

to soulfully be one with your creation



Not a subject to control

you call upon a higer power

for help and inspiration



The crowd waits

and turns their faces

towards you expectantly

you give them what they need

But their useless criticism

makes you die

a bit more inside



Not a subject to control

you call upon a higer power

for help and inspiration



Oh, I swoon

while loudspeakers play soft music



Leaning

over your fourtieth masterpiece

You must have loved

the colour of these violins



I wish I knew you

Your fit of insanity makes me sad



I wish you knew

your music was to stay forever

And I hope...



I have no clue

if you know how much it matters

And I hope...