EnsembleSo what's my language?In welcher Sprache denk' ich?En français, ma chérie?говорите по-русски!¡E viva España!En anglais, tu crois?люблю многие языки!¡ojo! ¡Tu lengua pero priti priti!Mais me prive, c'est difficile,Weil ich mit vielen Sprachen spiele.But I think you know the truth:Am meisten liegt mir deutsch im Blut.
The God of the Fallen TreesThe god of the fallen treesis but the god of fallen dreams...He is a nice guy, baby! Yesterdayhe chipped my darkened dreams awayand gave me, smiling, one of thoseenlightening and refreshing thoughtsthat devours your dark doubts at one swallowand plants a new dream beside a fallen.He is a nice guy, baby! And tonighthe stands beside you | always ready for the fightagainst the storm of life, the thunder,against all seven devils and the vampire huntersHe keeps the soul of the fallen trees.He cares for the young and for the wounded knees.He plants a new tree every dayon ev'ry fallebn dream he finds on his way.He knows for sure s
Confessions. Or not.No, I'm no magician. Not in the least. So if you see me disappear at this place and reapear later at another place it's just slowness of your eyes. For I'm steady on my feet. And to clear that too: it's not my fingers – my brain writes the stories. My fingers just can refuse to write it correctly and so divert my thoughts to other things, and they are slightly successfull. But if you want me to write about something special you only have to put a piece into my brain. It works! Hardly, but it works. More or less. Sooner or later there will be a story, or a kind of something like a story. It often works better if you have not the slighte