valid points and essence of "conspiracy theory" topics

Introduction in English:
Over 30 years ago, I did a six-week hitchhiking trip in Ireland. Right at the beginning of the tour I met Ian and we hitchhiked through the beautiful Emerald Isle. 
We quickly discovered that we were both stuck in completely hopeless love affairs. He in London and me in Berlin. Both of us didn't want to admit it for a long time. Now, after countless attempts to save our relationship, we had fled to Ireland. 
I described my rescue efforts as a "Himmelfahrtskommando“. But there is no real equivalent for this German pun in English. The closest thing is "Suicide Mission". And so we came to call our community of fate "Suicide-Himmelfahrt-Mission". 
After this unforgettable tramp journey we always stayed in contact with each other. 
Until earlier this year, Ian's mother informed me that he had died unexpectedly of a heart attack. 
Accordingly, I dedicate this song to my friend Ian, who passed away much too soon. 
In the first part I sing the chorus in German. In the second part I imagine how the almost always cheerful jazz friend Ian would have sung the verses and the chorus. And in the third part, I imagine how the two of us would have sung the chorus together.

Lyrics in English:

From above, look down on me
Have completely overstretched myself

I sadly think oft he last day
I believed that could be done

Saw no age, no boundaries
Even defied the death

Suicide Mission
I can’t stand it
I am breaking down
Totally wounded
Lie to myself
All is lost
This is a Suicide Mission

Life seemed to me wihout meaning
Now finally I had the mission

First I flew along as if in a daze
Completely filled with a great vision

Yes, to heal you
And to redeem you
From the Trauma Suck

I ask myself on e last time
Why didn`t I look there?

Right in front of me the torture stake
And the warners shouted aloud

No demureness
Remote from earth
In wanting to be god burned

Refrain auf Deutsch:

Himmelfahrt
Alles zu hart
Brech‘ in mich ein
Blut wie ein Schwein
Total verschätzt
Tödlich verletzt
Das ist ein Himmelfahrtskommando

Suicide-Himmelfahrt-Mission

Introduction in English:

Sometimes I dream that I meet my great musical idols. When I was intensively occupied for a while with one of my passions, the French chanson, it happened that in one of my dreams Jacques Brel sat opposite me in my small Berlin living room and gave me the assignment to write, in my way and with my possibilities, something like a sequel to his great chanson "Ne me quitte pas".  Whereas here he had described the fear of losing a loved one, now I was to describe in my song what it was like to have lost this loved one forever. 
And on the basis of this nocturnal dream collaboration, my French chanson "Je t’ai perdu" was born. 
The cover is again by the Polish artist Renata Golab.

Lyrics in English:

I have lost you

I have lost you 
lost forever

Just wanted to hold you
Keep you warm and safe

Just wanted to protect you
Protect you from abysses

Protect you from demons
Protect you from the falling

Yes I know 
You will never understand

I know
You'll see it differently

You feel dominated
Dominated by me
Controlled by me
Imprisoned by me

You feel enslaved 
For all eternity

I have lost you
Lost forever

Just wanted to love you  
Love you unconditionally, unconditionally

Strengthen you for life
Strengthen you for becoming yourself

To raise you gently 
Lift you up against the Hades

Over, gone
I have not reached you

Nothing that remains
The oath of revelation

Reap your hatred 
Reproach and hatred
Your scorn and mockery
Scorn and derision

I have lost you
For all eternity

Französischer Originaltext:

Je t'ai perdu,

Je t'ai perdu,
Perdu pour toujours

Je voulais juste te tenir
Garder au chaud en toute sécurité

Je voulais juste te protéger
Protéger des abîmes

Te préserver des demons
Préserver de la chute, de la chute

Oui, Je sais
Tu ne comprendras jamais

Je suis conscient
Tu verras les choses autrement

Tu te sens dominé
Dominé par moi
Supprimé par moi
Enfermé par moi

Tu te sens asservi
Pour l'éternité

Je t'ai perdu,

Je t'ai perdu,
Perdu pour toujours
Je voulais juste t’aimer
T’aimer sans condition

Te renforcer pour la vie 
Renforcer pour devenir soi 
Te redresser doucement
Te dresser contre l'Hadès

Fini, passé
Je ne t’ai pas attaint
Rien qui ne reste
La déclaration de reddition

Je récolte ta haine
Tes reproches et ta haine
Ta moquerie et tes railleries
Ta malice et ta derision

Je t’ai perdu 
Pour l'éternité

Je t'ai perdu

Je t'ai perdu (I have lost you)

Introduction in English:

A good thirty years ago I had a partner who had strict Catholic parents. She had four brothers who married in the strict Catholic spirit during the time we were together. 
I loved the free, unbridled, wild dancing at that time. But at those weddings, any passion was contained in a rigid religious call-and-dance ceremonial.   
My "salvation" was Bosza, a Croatian woman overflowing with warmth, cordiality and impetuous liveliness. She was the wife of my then partner's uncle, who himself had fled to Berlin decades ago from the all-suppressing Catholic morality.
And with Bosza I danced half the night away at the weddings. Most people hated us for it. But we were passionate soul mates.
After I separated from my former partner, I lost sight of Bosza for the last ten years. 
Until I received a year ago over a brother of my ex-partner by WhatsApp the message that Bosza had died with not even seventy years. 
When I received this news, I had to cry spontaneously. And out of this sadness, but also out of gratitude for the great living time together at the otherwise dead weddings, this tribute to this wonderful woman was created. A woman who burned from both ends of the candle, and like most who do, do not grow very old.

Lyrics (for those, who don`t speak German)

Bosza

Shaved grass
Orgies of order in excess

Everything symmetrical
The cleanliness fetish

The compulsive cult replaces pleasure and fun

I come there to such a festival
Where they leave farts in gold seals

On the dance floors brooms
Heart-decored straw creatures

The atmosphere is arctic chilled

There you just jumped in brazenly
Loud, exuberant and soft

Created a little warmth niche
In this enchanted ice princess realm

Oh Bosza, Oh Bosza, Oh Bosza
You Know!

Fish grette leftovers at the cat table
On my lap a spoiled quiche

The life in bottles
With permanent stop tabs

The children are domesticated

The meeting train on a railway track
On which is written "Untraceable travelled"

No door handles
The eye salute empty

A glass bell lies on the sea of people

Through you came healing cracks
The gowns mutated into a dress
Stock fishes began to wag
The mood of forbiddance deflated

Ooh Bosza, Ooh Bosza, Ooh Bosza
You know!

Deutscher Originaltext:

Bosza

Kahlgeschorenes Gras
Ordnungsorgien im Übermaß

Alles symmetrisch
Der Sauberkeitsfetisch

Der Zwangskult ersetzt Lust und Spaß

Komme dort auf so ein Fest
Auf dem man Fürze in Goldplomben lässt

Auf den Tanzflächen Besen
Herzentkernte Stroh-Wesen

Die Atmosphäre ist arktisch gekühlt

Da bist Du einfach dreist reingesprungen
laut, überbordend und weich

Schufst eine kleine Wärmenische
In diesem verwunschenen Eisprinzessinnen-Reich

Oh Bosza, Oh Bosza, Oh Bosza
You Know!

Fischgreten-Reste am Katzentisch
Auf meinem Schoß ne' verdorbene Quiche

Das Leben in Flaschen
Mit Dauerstop-Laschen

Die Kinder sind domestiziert

Der Begegnungszug auf einem Gleis
Auf dem steht „Unauffindbar verreist“

Keine Türklinken
Der Augengruß leer

Eine Glasglocke liegt auf dem Menschenmeer

Durch Dich kamen heilsame Risse
Die Talare mutierten zum Kleid
Stockfische begannen zu wedeln
Die Stimmung von Verboten entbleit

Ooh Bosza, Ooh Bosza, Ooh Bosza
You know!

Bosza

Boza

Introduction in English:

Recently I met a friend who spent a month in Crete earlier this year. 
As he told me about his wanderings there, I again remembered a drastic experience I had during my stay in Crete thirty years ago. 
During my expeditions through the bare Cretan mountains at that time, I met a young man who had been living in a cave for some time, completely isolated from the world. 
We walked together for a while. He told me that he suffered from psychotic delusions with inner voices torturing him. 
The secluded life here in the mountains would help him to deal with these powerful and alienating voices. 
Nevertheless, he longed so much for a release from this "voice terror". 
When I wanted to visit him again the next day, he was nowhere to be found. 
In all these years I thought of him from time to time, especially since I also meet people here in Berlin again and again who suffer from similar psychotic confusions. 
With this song I try to put myself in the place of these people who suffer so terribly and are still largely misunderstood

Lyrics (for those, who don`t speak German)

Voices in the head

Voices in the head
Eat me up

Controlling me
Beat on me

Persecute me, torture me
Incapacitate me
Condemn, despise, devalue, laugh at me 
They make me down, drive into all my limbs

Are always there, invade me
Come when they want, never leave me alone

Come through the walls, no wall can stop them

Hate, shun, move masses of vengeance 
They cause me pain with relish, they light stigma-candles inside me

I've made up my mind 
I'll be calm, because I know I can free myself from you
Yes, I can free myself from you!

The last thing I have left is to lay a hand on myself.
With my dying, I'll give you my last escort.

Then I'll cast you off like a garment of shadows

Your blasphemies, your bullying, your poison, your envy

Flow with the water and the blood from me
Disappears in the drain, far away from here

Emasculated sadists, coreless egoists, seedless fascists, 
You all can't nestle in me anymore

Float away
You stay behind

Your power is now completely null and void
A hollow space remains unnamed

I now lie in my hand

Deutscher Originaltext:

Stimmen im Kopf

Stimmen im Kopf
Fressen mich auf

Bestimmen über mich
Schlagen auf mich drauf

Verfolgen, Foltern mich
Entmündigen mich
Verurteilen, verachten, entwerten, verlachen, 
Machen mich nieder, fahr`n in all meine Glieder

Sind immer da, dringen in mich ein
Kommen wann sie wollen, lassen mich nie allein

Kommen durch die Wände, Keine Mauer halt sie auf

hassen, schassen, bewegen Rachemassen, 
Bereiten lustvoll Schmerzen, Entzünden in mir Wundmal-Kerzen

Ich hab’ mich entschieden, 
Ich werde ruhig, weil ich weiß, ich kann mich von Euch befreien
Ja ich kann mich von Euch befreien!

Das letzte was mir bleibt, ist, Hand an mich zu legen
Mit meinem Freitod gebe ich Euch letztes Geleit

Dann leg’ ich Euch ab wie ein Schatten-Kleid

Euer Lästern, Euer Stänkern, Euer Gift, Euren Neid

Fließt mit dem Wasser und dem Blut aus mir
Entschwindet im Abfluß, weit weg von hier

Entmannte Sadisten, Entkernte Egoisten, Samenlose Faschisten, 
Ihr könnt’ Euch alle nicht mehr in mir einnisten

Schwebe hinüber
Ihr bleibt zurück

Eure Macht ist nun ganz und gar null und nichtig
Zurück bleibt ein Hohlraum unbenannt

Ich lieg jetzt in meiner Hand

Stimmen im Kopf (Voices in the Head)

Stimmen Im Kopf (Voices In The Head)

Introduction in English:

My mother was always a smart woman, endowed with a naturally high intelligence .

Living alone with her sick father, she had to leave school already in the 6th grade and go to work in a factory.

When she later met my academically pre-educated father, she was introduced through him into the circles of the so-called " educated citizens ".

We then often had corresponding "nouveau riche" and "status conceit" parties in our large rented apartment. Here, my mother regularly got to feel the "fine", subtly deeply humiliating difference between the would-be educated and her as a despicably uneducated person.

At the same time, the would-be educated often had a style of communication that I call "trash talk" in this song. They often engaged in name-dropping by mentioning only the names of famous personalities without knowing anything more about their work. When asked more closely, they quickly changed the subject or texted you with some quarter-truth.

My mother, who was plagued by feelings of inferiority, was very intimidated by this, and it made her feel all the more stupid, uninteresting, and not socially acceptable.

At that time I was still too small. But I would have liked to turn back time for my mother's protection and sing this song at the highest volume to all these "trash talkers" standing on our dining room table at that time.

That the topic of "subtle differences" is a timeless one (I bow here to the wonderfully perceptive Pierre Bourdieu in this regard) is shown by the deep rifts that continue to exist between today's self-proclaimed "elite" and the supposed "primitives".

Lyrics in English (for those, who don`t speak German):

Trash Talk

Just chat, don't think anymore, dislocate brain, be stupid 
Chattering sideways, never wavering, just no profundity, flatland

They remain one-dimensional, quite gloriously meaningless
The wordplay is all thin and stale, The shallow is all big with them

Come close all books, welcome to a shallow brain walk
Sult yourselves in the mud talk, It`s time for a nice trash talk  

Are at many parties with colorful Smarties, with false eyelashes and pout 
No contacts, just meaningless verbal acts, word junk.

They are the heroes of the lazy mind, meaningless in the jelly glow 
Are narrow-minded, cheeky and brazen, persist in the one-legged dance

Come close all books, welcome to a shallow brain walk
Sult yourselves in the mud talk, It`s time for a nice trash talk 

Have no enemies, no friends either, talk beside, nothing remains 
Leave only grease stains, can`t even bump, get stuck in the approach, nothing drifts 

Except: Trash Talk, Trash Talk, Trash Talk, Trash Talk (Fad Out)...

________________________________

Deutscher Originaltext

Trash Talk

Einfach quatschen, nicht mehr denken, Hirn ausrenken, Dumm sein 
Seitwärts plaudern, niemals zaudern, nur kein Tiefsinn, Flachland

Sie bleiben eindimensional, ganz herrlich bedeutungslos
Der Wortwitz ist ganz dünn und schal, Das Seichte ist bei ihnen ganz groß

Komm schließt alle Bücher, welcome to a shallow brain walk
Sult Euch im Schlammreden, It`s Time for a nice Trash Talk  

Sind auf vielen Parties mit bunten Smarties, mit falschen Wimpern und Schmollmund 
Keine Kontakte, nur sinn-entschlackte Verbalakte, Wortschund.

Sie sind die Helden des faulen Geists, nichtssagend im geligen Glanz, 
Sind borniert, vorlaut und dreist, verharren im einbeinigen Tanz

Kommt schließt alle Bücher, welcome to a shallow brain walk
Sult Euch im Schlammreden, It`s Time for a nice Trash Talk 

Haben keine Feinde, auch keine Freunde, reden daneben, nichts bleibt 
Hinterlaßen nur Fettflecken, können nicht mal anecken, bleiben im Ansatz stecken, nichts treibt 

Außer: Trash Talk, Trash Talk, Trash Talk, Trash Talk (Fad Out)…

Trash Talk

Introduction in English:

Last year, my wife and me bought a cottage on the Baltic Sea. It was to be something like our retirement home for the next thirty years. 
Unfortunately, this vision has so far been thwarted by our increasingly resentful neighbours. Consideration is a foreign word for them. They let their children play loud basketball as long as they want; they grill foul-smelling meat as long as they want and they party as long as they want. 
If you ask them nicely to be quiet, you will be dismissed with slogans like "We don't give a shit", "Move away if you don't like it" or "We'll do what we like".
In my helplessness and speechlessness over this dissocial stubbornness, I came across an old Beatles song called "Not a Second Time". Of course, it was composed by John Lennon in 1963 in a completely different context.
But its lyrics fit just as well with my desperate and so far largely unheard plea for more neighbourly consideration. - In particular, the lines: "You're giving me the same old line/ I'm wondering why/You hurt me then/ you're back again/No, no, no, not a second time“ sum up our current plight with these self-centred neighbours.
And as always with covers, my aim is not to get as close as possible to the original, but to transform it into a Karlit-O-Kay sound design.
The picture cover for the song is by German artist Markus Schuke.

Einleitung auf Deutsch:

Letztes Jahr kauften meine Frau und ich an der Ostsee ein Häuschen. Es sollte so etwas wie unser Alters- und Ruhesitz für die nächsten dreißig Jahre werden. 
Leider wurde diese Vision bisher von unseren zunehmend renitenten Nachbarn durchkreuzt. Rücksichtnahme ist für sie ein Fremdwort. Sie lassen ihre Kinder lautstark Basketball spielen, solange die wollen; sie grillen übelriechendes Fleisch, so lange sie wollen und sie machen Party, so lange sie wollen. 
Bittet man sie freundlich um Ruhe, wird man mit Sprüchen wie "Ist uns doch scheißegal", "Ziehen Sie doch weg, wenn es Ihnen nicht paßt" oder "Wir machen, was uns passt" abgefertigt.
In meiner Ohnmacht und Sprachlosigkeit ob dieser dissozialen Dickfelligkeit stieß ich auf einen alten Song der Beatles namens "Not a Second time". Der ist natürlich damals 1963 von John Lennon in einem ganz anderen Zusammenhang komponiert worden.
Seine Textzeilen passen aber ebenso gut zu meinem verzweifelten und bisher weitgehend unerhört gebliebenen Bitten um mehr nachbarschaftliche Rücksichtnahme. – Insbesondere die Zeilen „You're giving me the same old line/ I'm wondering why/You hurt me then/ you're back again/No, no, no, not a second time“ bringen unsere derzeitige Not mit diesen egozentrischen Nachbarn auf den Punkt, 
Und wie stets bei Covern geht es mir nicht darum, dem Original möglichst nahe zu kommen, sondern dieses in ein Karlit-O-Kay- Sounddesign zu transformieren.
Das Bild-Cover zu dem Song stammt von dem deutschen Künstler Markus Schuke.

Not a Second Time

Not A Second Time (Lennon/Mccartney)

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The Ice Man Mix

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