New Songs

Anxiety disorders

Screaming sirens robbing sleep. Echoes speaking to brains, whispering: „The walls have ears. The walls have eyes. No motion’s wasted. No motion’s unwatched.“ Supervisor’s praying: „Cost-cutting exercise! We need to shit a million. A million, we will shit.“ The army reserve is battled, as hungry as a hunter, ready to shit bricks!

The One-Handed Parasite

Every turning back eliminated. The intelligent robot constantly releases value. The factory rat has lost it’s fucking hand today. This one-handed parasite can‘t stand the beat any more. And this restless beast, it’s all but impossible to stop. Who the fuck has the abilities? 1758 and scribbling mills! The maddest of the maddest are laughing out loud: „Now it’s too late to stop our decay.“ Melancholy at last.

Crisis Stimulus

Dazzling diamonds leaping to eyes. The tea party makes a promise: „Well, the treadmill, hit it a little more, just a little more, you‘d be at the front.“ The anxiety to please under the stimulus of hunger: Make or fucking break!, while the glamour beats the gloom. Alice in wonderland – away on business, away on total monkey business, going nowhere but with the speed of light. That beats everything!

Plain Vanilla

In the loveliest days, in the sweetest moments, darkest clouds are hanging deep. In fear of ever day, of every night, of every fucking second. „I‘m doing the best I can.“ Reality proves that I‘m a liar. Painstakingly searching for a reason. Even in this filthy mass in which everyone cares for no one, a piece of naivety will always stay with me. Lost trust gnaws at the hearts of the strongest men. The laughter called faith brings this pain. Future is dead and gone. When you feel as dogmatic as the next one lay flowers on what once was plain vanilla.

Alea Iacta Est

Shat into this coffin. A thousand nails in my path. Indoctrination, Intimidation. Valued will be the time being enslaved. Valued will be the things you do to survive. Indoctrination, Intimidation. This torrential river to swim against and this desert without water is what is offered in this land. Grim Reaper is creeping after me, with darkest humour speaking out loud: “Alea iacta est. It is assumed that your chances are small.” This civilisation is rotting. Its self-righteous organs raining its shit upon my head. Indoctrination, Intimidation. The remaining meaning of life: I will fight this fleshly instinct to die.

Connoisseur Of Art

Die Ignoranz als Geisel. Die Bedeutungslosigkeit als Konzept. Schriftgröße zehntausend macht es nicht weniger scheiße. Connoisseure der Kunst, aber richtig feine Herren überschwemmen den Raum. Die Unterhaltung ist erwartungsgemäß. Why am I here again? I try not to live from hand to mouth. Why am I here again? I am here to lick my bosses boot. Oh, officer in charge, a real connoisseur of art, we have met before and we both know it. Only the differend ambience keeps you from assigning my face and losing your smile.

Fair Trade Caffeine

Panic in the front row. Civilisation holds its breath. Who’s gonna curb this scum? Who’s gonna tame those savages? We brought them the 80-hour week to get their kids off the streets. Now they storm our land. God knows what they seek. Some say they are looking for money. Some say they are looking for their money. Who’s gonna keep those who we fuck over away from our property?


In this battlefield, you always walked the way you thought of being right, so full of good aims, now wondering what went wrong. Once high, but low for so long. What did you expect? „Always take the path of winners. Fear no man, fear no love.“ Men made hell. A whole species as if paralysed. Errare humanum est. In human terms we should dance and celebrate: All’s fair in love and war.


World bores to death LP“

Clenched fists and bared teeth

Why the fuck should we believe this hellish noise would ever change when we still shirk every responsibility? Where the fuck remains the instinct to capture all these ‘as ugly as sin’ death ships? „Human dignity is inviolable“ – while generations of humans got coldly extinguished. „Human dignity is inviolable“ – while our history is written in in ice-cold blood. „Human dignity is inviolable“ – while our history is written in masculine brutality. And if we’re about to die we should know that we fought and stood up for our beliefs with clenched fists and bared teeth screaming: “Human dignity is inviolable.“
- To respect and protect, it shall not be the duty of any public authority, but it must be the duty and responsibility of ourselves and of all of us.“


Nicht, dass es irgendwen noch wundern könnte das zu sehen. Die miesen Zeiten haben uns beigebracht für die schlechten Zeiten aufzustehen. Man hat uns schon bewiesen wie hoch sich Scheiße stapeln lässt. Und in einem Moment des Innehaltens von dem entfremdeten Dreck, der sich Arbeit nennt, heben wir den Blick und sehen dich bei dem sinnentleerten Dreck, den du Rede nennst. Und du machst dein Maul auf und sagst:“Gutmensch…“ Whatever the fuck that means. Großmaul strikes again. I‘m so tired of staying calm and sane. I‘m so tired of doing the wrong thing. Und ich denke an Hammer und Zähne. Zahnsteinlos! Kariesfrei!

Sink or swim

The flowers will not grow in here when their roots are devoured by masters. One coffin for every child’s personality. Diversity buried deep under the soil. To break their fucking will, to blind their minds in the rooms of the institutions. Another threat, another forced competition in a world full of deathtraps. The end result of those in power and the fatal gutlessness and weakness of humanity. We will fate and we will fall. Zero, zero and zero. It’s sink or swim.


The claim against the enemy is eternal. There is no alternative but to take everything. Your concessions are our defeat. No matter how much you give us, we we will always ask for more, because what we want is no less than the end of every concession.


Eyes that cannot read between the lines and easy answers from the ones who resigned. Soaking adverts as a means to an end. Anticipatory obedience is their passion. The uniforms are battled to protect this charade. Selling truths, buying lies et vice versa and pay their fucking price. One more hard earned intoxication as requital. No smell of fear while consuming as living dead. No rest when there is no fucking place to hide. Sure as shit that I forgot how to piss my pants in a town where there is no air to breathe.


Again it´s those strangers appearing in your head, endlessly dashing to and fro. Furiously reminding you that you constantly live to regret, to endure torture. Restlessly trying to get rid of all these ugly truths. These ugly truths they´re still yelling into innocent, newborn ears. So who should you keep on listening to?… One more getting lost in perplexity. One more being pulverized in their machine. And yet there is no end sight. No retribution. This might maintain forever. No solace and no going back. …and when the world is sick anyway, why the fuck must we feel that sick as well then?


And more shit gets pushed upon us. An endless struggle to endure every single day. A life lived in a trench of meaninglessness and emptiness. Carrot and stick for the fools, our patience as our own curse upon us. Carrot and stick for the fools, when no options remain to live in this mess. Where is the denial to risk our lives for the sake of the pigs? And where are our arms, when all our dreams and hopes have died? And where the fuck remains our impatience?

Asshole parades

There’s dust piling up to the sky on these black and white pictures. And yet we’re so damn sure again that we’re the ones in the right. In total control by our laws and rules. The ones to define right and wrong. The ones to judge what’s justified and what’s evil. This is how the forces work that keep us restrained. The ruinous state of one more disastrous construct that humans have created. Reinventing the same bullshit again. Error detection and feedback system: Too much sickness in all of these fucking holier-than-thou parades. Asshole parades!

The Poverty lawyer

The imbalance of the scales will leave you stammering. Every word you say will be twisted and used against you. The prosecutor is called hyena and you are his precedent case. Right next to you, Ms. Peggy Fogger. Your assigned solicitor is explaining to you that in this price category is no time for big appeals. And even though this room looks so scrupulously clean. – Well, it’s all over town – Justice is a shit-sandwich without the bread. The strings are pulled, the switch is stayed.

Lap dance of rats

Won’t take your offerings, won’t believe your drip of lies and your promises. None of your pissant options. Your “rescue” efforts as the very last outcry of your fetid cesspits so full of of power and profit addiction. We are the ones to take any occasion of collapse. We are the ones to choose the rhythm of ruin. There won‘t be any change in the sewer of capitalism. This over-thrilling blind flight of destruction and creation is what we choose. This delightful lap dance of rats in the sewer of capitalism is what we choose, ‘cause we will rise and from the sewer only the scum will rise.


Split with Rivers Run Dry

I Boredom über alles! pt. III (Huye, hombre, huye.)

Screaming against walls, cutting fucking air. Doing nothing and nothing again to escape the endless circle of boredom. Forward is a fucking circle! Serving on lowest manner the destruction of men in order just to be human. More buried than kept imprisoned. A society which needs dispose of people in prisons tells its own tale. All justified with a myth called voting right. As if there is a real choice: Wir können nicht wie wir wollen, wir können nur wie wir sollen. They call it maximum security, I call it doubtlessly the weakest society the world has ever seen. This society bores me to death! Boredom over all!

II When the shit hits the fan.

How much more irony can we take? What fucking price are we willing to pay? The usual cold sweat on our foreheads, the joylessness in every single action, the tiredness and listlessness that surrounds in every of our fucking lives? When the shit hits the fan, the shit hits the fan but we still keep going, telling each other „this all could be worse“. We are the instrument to our own wipe-out, building our prisons, producing the weapons that kill us while we‘re thinking about change. Don‘t you realize the irony? All I know is: This could not be worse. When the shit hits the fan, the shit hits the fan and so we must become the dynamite that brings the shit to explode.

III Back home

Arrived back on the bottom of my own inability again. Now matter how hard I try. I didn‘t say anything again. Still worrying about the same things, worryng about what I‘m not able to show, about what I don‘t know how to express. Am I just too proud or is it all those scars too fucking deep to heal? And it’s so simple: the more you keep it private the more it fucking hurts. There’s nothing more to lose so what the hell I‘m waiting for? I‘m so fucking tired of myself and my own weakness. This tiredness seems to devour me, I could sleep all day long.

IV Crashing bores

This fucking song could really be as unnecessary as this entire fucking world of opression is, but the present roles you insist on and the damn standards of beauty you claim all the time just suck so much ass. It has to be said. And yeah, most boys will start to cry now, at least alone in the dark, but this topic is still essential. The devil named gender still remains as a big apparatus of oppression. If this testosterone-driven boys club is really something you are proud of then you are a crashing bore. Oh, you can call me a queer/ fag/ sissy and yes I will call you a fucking asshole, for reproducing the same old bullshit. Male dominance = female subdominance, that’s what we have been raised on from our very first days and like almost everything else we have been raised on, it should be destroyed.


Split with Sand Creek Massacre

I Caught in the headlights

Who’s got the right, who’s got the right? Who’s got the better arguments? Who’s got the right, who’s got the right? Who’s got the guns? Well, it’s obviously not us and while we sit here arm in arm like rabbits caught in the headlights they tighten the noose. Who’s got the fear, who’s got the fear? Who’s got the harm? Are we a threat, are we a threat? Are we are a fucking threat? Those in power are insatiable. Capitalism is insatiable. It needs to grow, it needs to grow. Pacifism defends the status quo and while we sit here arm in arm like rabbits caught in the headlights they keep the noose tight, forever and ever.

II We, the turd, united.

Flag waving hands, right wing-ideas and an omnipresent pride for this fucking country determine my boundless disrespect. Obsession with security still justifies values that kill, justifies every atrocity at every time. We, the turd, united. Oh, how much I wish to burn your fucking flag. Oh, I don‘t give a fuck on red-white-red. Oh, how much I wish to piss on your flag. Oh yeah, I hate this country. Feelings of unity based on constructs in our heads, whilst in truth we rot in loneliness. Individual is just a word, just another fucking word. Oh, how much I love to destroy every goddamn brick. Until red-white-red is fucking dead!



I Out of breath

The level of my uncertainty is on the tip of the iceberg again. Cannot express all my disappointment. My efforts of defence always turn into the biggest frustration. I’m out of breath. And again all these omnipresent intimidations, and again all these fucking threats. This madhouse scares me to death. How to deal with the feeling of losing ground? Where is the light at the end of the tunnel? Where is the island? Suicide is not an option. Not to give up becomes a fulltime job without getting paid. This madhouse called life: I wish I could care less and I know that there is no way out. This madhouse scares me to death.

II …for every suicide (a perpetual outcry for vengeance)

All the hopes and dreams for a better life quickly turned into the darkest nightmares. All expectations are killed within a few seconds. Distracted with incredible inner pain. From agony to mental slavery and back to agony again. A profitable psycho-terror cell called Europe. Take vengeance, fight back and make them pay: Fight back for every deportation. Fight back for every state of fear. Fight back for every threat and for every suicide (attempt).

III The inevitable waste (of life)

Get up! Get up, good tamed mind. Just play it safe and accept the inevitable waste of your fucking life once again. And again and again it feels like selling every single part of yourself to the death factories. Like a prisoner on death row, waiting for the daily two hours of yard exercise in order to get locked away again. Waiting for the death penalty. Like a prostitute, that carries the mere shadow of her former self to slavery. But just carry on with your business and finally you will realize that you are running out of time! Carry on! Running out of time, running out of time!

IV The Plan

Once again I got dragged down by this reality. But finally there’s a plan. A plan for destroying everything you have built and the pleasure this time will be mine, not yours. This time I will not control my anger. This time I will not control my hate and the satisfaction will be mine, not yours. Slowly more and more of these images appear: reanimating images, images of destruction, images of everything burning down. The smoke of the first flame smells so unmistakeably good and it seems like I finally start to feel the blood running through my veins again. I just wish my actions would be much more radical than my words.

V Boredom over all! pt.I

(Y)our little paradise is just as boring as everything else in life.

VI Boredom over all! pt.II

(Y)our little paradise, so full of individuality and so damn open minded. Now tell me what the fuck gives you the right to fill my head with useless crap. I despise your pitiful beliefs and I despise your abject rules and all your fucking stereotyped thoughts. Don’t tell me what’s wrong or right. Everything here looks the same, everything here tastes the same, everything here sounds the same. Boredom over all! Your little paradise bores me to death. Your performed individuality means fucking shit, shit, shit to me!

VII Signs of the problem (Fück off and die!)

They lock up and oppress. They kill and deport. They take control of your life. I don’t care if they say it’s just for the money. I don’t care if they really believe it’s just a job as any other. They are brainwashed and blinded, state-run controlling bodies. National identification through employment, shit, shit. They are nothing more than signs of the problem. A failed system called democracy, their pitiful nation, this goddamn state or what the hell do those fuckers believe they really have to protect? I deny to understand it. I refuse to think it over again. Fuck off and die!