in the middle of nirvana, ashima wakes up
she doesn't know how she reached this sphere
full of silver lights and black silhouettes
everyone she knows seems to be present

greyly shimmering leaflets are floating
through the air, gently, like mist
and red fireflies are clapping their wings
the crowd of shadows is starting to sing:

"ashima, you have come a long way to us
we are the voices of nirvana, listen
nirvana is the deep core of your soul
the land of your most secret wishes

sometimes, in your dreams, you reach out
when you are waiting for a train and the
rays of the sun are reflecting your thoughts
you never find us but we know where you are

you may call us your wishes, we belong to you
as ****, as branko and your mom do
are you the imitation of your dreams, ashima?
or do your dreams imitate you, our girl?

certainly, you will become the thing you dread
we know that you took revenge recently
when you were slashing the *******'s throat
as his blood was slowly flowing into the sheets"

in the middle of her apartment, ashima wakes up
she becomes aware of a crinkled and dark leaflet
it is more than twenty years old, informing about
something that ashima can not read anymore

the letters on the leaflet have become dust
ashima is taking a deep breath and sighs
her pitbull branko is strolling towards her
his wet tongue, ashima thinks, feels cute

**** the river, **** the river of oblivion
past lives are drifting beneath its surface
they are singing a hymn, in kids voices
this hymn was written by the thoughts of ancestors

a human being has more than 60.000 thoughts a day
the psychiatrist who told me that is chinese
i like her appearance, she's my type, sweetly dark
the memory of my poems is implanted into her brain

when the night becomes day, the sun swallows every word
its rays burn down all the letters of the past
and the past is nothing but the last word written
i want to take a bath in the ideal of love

this ideal is tattooed on a person special to me
i have to think of what alejandro said in sicario
a movie is never a movie but a collection of memories
no story will ever be written without experience

the observations of birds make up for a pool of poems
if these creatures could write, yet they sing their stories
every soul which existed on earth, comes back to it
sooner or later, gökhan, reyka, ama and alexander

i would have liked to meet my uncle but he died of an overdose
a man who hated him gave him poison and alex injected it
as a child, i would often look at his picture:
eyes wide open, wildly glowing, as if he was in a waking dream

tizz is love it or hate it, nuttin' in between
addicted to yayo like sheen, 500 bpm heartbeat
don't do it anymore, but remain psychotic
and hunt down idiotics like a carnivore

from florida to berlin, from tropic to toxic
deep in da game, da grimy streetz know my name
it'z tizzop, 14.8 inchez of hip-hop

hangin' at rashid'z, shisha ready, cuban necklace
three men in da back but ya don't know who it iz
all of 'em are dark-skinned, all of 'em are bearded
most important of all: all of 'em are fearless

we don't know what it meanz to be scared
just some migrantz who will now be heard
da territory split up: kurdz, arabz and turkz
we got our own law, like omerta, like da cosa

one apartment here, and one block' there
like bushido did, back in da dayz wit fler
sonny black carlo, godfatherz, yeeeah

power is about makin it and takin it, unlike nine said
unlike any other guy said, and if ya don't wanna buy it
find ya eyez in da wine-red, da choppaz are wild catz
ya can use them for da furiouz, some become notoriouz

otherz don't and die, but dey will be honored:
watch da muralz; urban networkz, also in da rural,
and five-o just remainz neutral; it is crucial to be brutal
as it iz to remain truthful; lyricistz can't deal wit diz
g-boy attitude of tizz: letz celebrate diversity
and ante up on google, i write barz and do diz
i'm a little too youthful for these oldskoolish

on the route of longing, i met you
don't know where you are now; where are you?
my hands are covered with silver sweat
and i am looking for a soul mate

how long will we overlook each other?
at which day will we unite like halves
that become an entirely new creature?
in the moment of sweet oblivion...

the streets are overfilled with ***** beings
are you one of them? are we two of them?
i'm looking for unreal love, you know
just for an idea, maybe for a mate

the difference is located in our greed
the golden lion with the twinkling mane
was roaring me into the land of dreams
is this a correct sentence in english?

can you help me to find you? how?
it's unbearable to be lonely
isolation is a grey, howling wolf
an animal, too close to me, go away

of longing and greed is this poem
its first part revolved about drugs
the second part is about you, babe
if i could only spot you in the masses

will we arrive together at the beach?
you know, in this old hut, close to the waves
it's always warm there, baby, every day
a nice place for kids; an arrival's place

your camouflage is spotless, babe
i want to reveal your inner
it's difficult to find you, babe
you revealed my inner last night

we are apart from each other
although we're sharing the same dreams
green ideas, arrival's smile
real laughter and toxic strangers

how can i find you between 'em?
how will i know that it's you then?
in the middle of my middle
eight syllables, i count on you

you're my lady but you're hidden
among buildings, streets and people
between the glimpses of despair
somewhen, never, always somewhere

the rouge of your bloodstream enchants
my wishes, longing, desire
in the moment of the key-night
we'll stand before our door, baby

maybe i've found you already
maybe you are my wife, baby
maybe you are my wife, baby
maybe i've found you already

decisions are based on forgetfulness
the agony of the sick child inside of me
i can't walk any further, i can't stay here
don't want to jump in front of an express train

the image of my little daughter is present
the way she utters the words "papa" and "hi"
papa is daddy in german, i want to live on
i want to die, i don't want to die in pity

dying an old man is better than suicide
the strings of despair are the strings of hope
route 36 / bolivia / white frost / toxic faces
glaciers of doubts / silverred bloodstream

my heart is beating on 888 beats per minute
battlerapping is a good weapon against depression
been writing against the opponent called myself
it is never about the others but about inner struggle

in long-term rehab, there are many psychologists,
speeding through the aisles of responsibility
around us are deep and darkgreen forests and hills
we are isolated from human civilization to heal

i fear the day of my return into the city of money and sins
the innocence of my two children is tattooed on my body
how could i **** their images by taking my own life?
right now, i am listening to the strings of despair and hope

by the end of the day, each letter will have become dust
a golden lion with a twinkling mane is protecting me
he is a disciple of god and thinks he is just a toy
god's power is greater than every single human act

nothingness was before him and he created nothingness

in the land of golem, shades reign
identities spread all over the ground
they consist of ice-covered letters
names, written in the font of memories

in the land of golem, glimmering reigns
names spread all over the ground
sparkling fireflies hover over words
written in the font of forgiveness

golemland consists of shadows
golemland is a place of lights
guarded by a ward who is on high alert
his name is golem, a wise, weary creature

golem owns a diary with a bluewhite binder
each era is a time of reflection for him
golem walks up a steep mountain track
precisely at 8 o'clock, it's the year 1945

the mountaintop lined with shades, lights
they are transcending into each other
golem takes breath, 76 years passed by
since he started from the bottom

golem is sitting down among creation
it's the moment of a long awaited return
glimmering turns into a glare, relaxation
shades become shadows, tension

golem is looking at a blackwhite sky
his attachments whirring in the clouds
the sounds of the sea blowing upwards
golem closes his eyes, awaiting to die

then, golem is falling asleep and rests