The morning is significant; in it awakes – the „big nothingness“ is far, the expectation is near, the rhythm begins.
Evident is the day; in its course it fulfils, disappoints, explains who you are, what is given to you, how you prove yourself.
The evening is electric; when you pulsate in my arms, and your pores touching mine, as it were, the world that belongs only to us brightens.
Lucullan is the night; so I taste your sweet magic, sleeping, stunned by your nearness, walking in dreams of you.
Im Mahlstrom 