Music

Who's Your Friend? And I want to know, who's that woman? And I want to know where did she come from? And I want to know how'd you meet her? And I want to know does she get you out of bed in the morning time? Does she tell you that your eyes are on fire? Does she buy you classic, vintage, expensive wine? Does she change your slowly leaking flat tire? But I'm not jealous, I just want to help you out.

Why is our conversation so full of beautiful bullshit? Why can't we talk about something else than everything that we've learned in our books and our magazines? It's a hideous mask. (I know, but it pleases the crowd.) Still, I'd rather hear what you had to say when the shit hit the fan and it was blowing all over you.

But when I think of all the times we've spent in empty conversation I wonder why we get together at all. And then I think of all the words I use as weapons and it makes me want to find a painless way to remove my tongue and put it inside a jar over the door, I'll look at it every day just to remind myself why I can't do that anymore.

Am I addicted to coffee? Am I a slave to the stuff? Do I need a steady, permanent feed of caffeine through my own I.V.? I could wheel the thing around in my room, adjust the drip to make sure I get enough. Maybe that isn't the problem. Maybe it's something I've overlooked. Maybe I ate to much at yesterday's lunch I think I've completely stepped out of my league. I'm going deaf and finding it harder to see. Maybe I shouldn't let it worry me.

with: Jan Burkamp, drums. Fabian Mallmann, guitar and F i s c h e r, bass.

Somebody goes and throws a little affection your way. Somebody wants to hear a couple of things that you say. And you're willing to trade everyone else in for the ride. Somebody winks and for five years you don't know what to do. Somebody thinks that it should be up to you. But how can you decide when he's decided not to decide?
But I just bought some shit. And you just swallowed another pill. Because I call it lying and you call it love. So what are we going to do about that? I call it lying and you call it love. I guess the conversation is over.

I'm tired of polishing my mirror, it's taking up all of my time. I'll just resolve to be the guy that don't see how much of an asshole he's turned out to be. Maybe alone ain't so terribly bad. I think about all the free time that I'd have.

I need to stop this ridiculous ride I'm on. I want my money back. Come on, kid, you've seen my face spinning around on this ride, just slow it down I'll step off gently because it always leaves me wasted and clean.

At the B Flat in Berlin, Mitte.