Creaks and groans Scare my old bones. Shatters and clatters, And nothing else matters. Trickling blackness beams Or so it seems; What eerie bleak noises From dead old machinery Of winter’s sad choices In dripping crimson scenery. Deep down secret cellars The past will...
Moral bombs attack! Cannot leave my body’s wreck, Lying wasted, burnt and black; There will be no turning back. Cities perish in the storm Of fire, heat and splinters. Warfare changed its rotten form In those cursed winters. Gentlemen like Mister Heston Have never...
(N)Euer Senf – mittelscharf, wenn’s geht