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you cannot touch these phantoms
01:07:20
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I can see them
I cannot touch them
I can feel them
I cannot keep them out.
Hide under the wings of golden death
Fear is the sun of the seventh son
Is like an absolute state of mind
A bordering mind, tyrant kingdom.
Absolute matter, cause of desaster
Morbid collapses, secular sorrows
Faith not safe no one's grave
Silent storm, it's so deafening.
Scarlet Wisdom, careless whispering
Synthesize truth, fucked up universe
Touch the skin of invisibility
Mask of phantoms bearing devastation
Bleak, fade, grains of hate
Bleak, fade, grains of hate.
I cannot see them
I cannot touch them
I cannot feel them
I cannot keep them alive.
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Wolfgang Kirchheim Heidelberg, Germany
"I want to tell stories with my music. Stories without text, without plot, more like a (not-so-)blank sheet, a musical frame in which I can imagine stories or story fragments. I like the idea of having space for my own feelings and emotions while listening to music and that is what I try to provide for my listeners as well." ... more
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