Irgendwann

Zwischen Idee und Materie
Zwischen Plan und Resultat
Zwischen Suche und Fund
Zwischen Wunsch und Realität
Ist ein gewundener Pfad

Er leitet dich vorwärts und nach oben
Seitwärts und nach unten
Er zwingt dich zurück in einer endlosen Spirale
Nur damit du dein Bestreben erreichst

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Marchin‘ in the Silver Light

Sticks and Stones did break my bones
And words could greatly harm me
Those bones did mend, those scars did blend –
Words formed a secret army

It’s words we fear and words we fight
Not knowing what they cause inside
A base on which belief is built
Far mor than feelings, such as guilt

Identity is split and cast
A puppet ‚till it’s unsurpassed

But yet, the army’s marching on
Still tuned in to the same old song
„Obey thy Lord and turn to him
Or else the consequence is grim“

Is rooted deep inside the Self
This army that has been prepared
It can be fought, has to be taught
They’re bearings far too small and scared