Written, performed, produced and mastered by Donna Blue
Drums by Dirk Schonk
Bass by Joost van Eck
Additional recording and engineering by Roy van Rosendaal

Listen to 'Into the Realm of Love' on all digital channels here: snowstar.lnk.to/DonnaBlue_IntotheRealmofLove

Buy our album 'Into the Realm of Love' on vinyl or CD here: www.bluedonnablue.com/merch
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Lyrics:
I’d walk a thousand miles into the land of fire
To find the crimson drink of your heart’s desire
It grants immortal life and cures all my disease
All for more time with you my love, you’re what I need

You’re like a dream to me, but I can’t read your mind
Is it the truth you speak or just a clever line?
It’s been said before, by many of your kind
Pleasing words will not fool me

You’re like an apple made of gold, my Aphrodite
I want to kiss your lips and take your hand in mine
I’ll make a promise then, for you I’d leave it all
All for more time with you my love, you’re what I need

I’d walk a thousand miles into the land of fire
Is it the truth you speak or just a clever line?
I’ll find the crimson drink and love you all my life
All for more time with you my love, you’re what I need
You’re what I need

Into The Realm Of Love

Aphrodite

leading towards an end - helvetia

Ralph Jacobs - Colours Shifting

Monday

The 888: A Story Nobody Knew

Most people never heard of The 888, and that was exactly how the band liked it.

They formed in the back room of an abandoned laundromat on the quiet end of Larkspur Street, where the neon sign buzzed more loudly than passing cars. Three members, each with their own reason for playing music in a forgotten place:

Mira, the guitarist, who spoke softly but played loudly.

Tomo, the drummer, who insisted his drum kit was “haunted in a good way.”

Seven, the bassist, who never explained their name but always tuned perfectly by ear.

They chose the name The 888 because when you flipped it sideways, it looked like a never-ending loop. “Infinite possibilities,” Mira had said. “Or infinite mistakes,” Tomo added. Either way, it stuck.

Every Friday night they held secret shows. Their only audience was whoever happened to wander in: a delivery driver on break, a lost tourist, once even a stray cat that sat on a washing machine and meowed along in the right key.

Their songs didn’t sound like anything on the radio. Some were dreamy, drifting like dust in sunlight; others pulsed with a strange, electric heartbeat. Seven said their style was “accidental experimental,” which everyone agreed was accurate.

One night, during their hundredth performance, something unusual happened. A power outage swept across Larkspur Street. The neon sign died, the streetlights blinked out, and the laundromat fell into darkness.

But The 888 didn’t stop playing.

In the blackness, their music glowed—soft at first, then brighter—as if the notes themselves produced their own light. When the power returned, the room was filled with a small crowd of neighbors who’d followed the glowing sound inside. They stared, wide-eyed.

“Whoa,” someone whispered.
“That was… incredible.”

Word spread, slowly but steadily. The 888 remained mysterious, still playing only in the old laundromat, still avoiding the world outside. But every Friday, more people came—drawn not by fame or posters or promotion, but by that unexplainable sound.

They never became famous. They never tried.

But they became unforgettable to the few who heard them.

Because some music doesn’t need the world.

It just needs the right ears.

The 888

Fleeting Joys - Go & Come Back

Harmonics Sparks a St Elmo's Fire...
High above Apeldoorn, Deventer, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Malia and London...
As Sawtooth Booms, Telephoto Zooms...
Sonics Pitch as the Shutter Clicks...
Animated Miners climb into the Cathode Ray...
To Excavate the Silence inbetween the Frames..
Unearthing Glinting Gemstones left by
Gods of the Ohm...
Electro Plasma Mining, delves into the unknown...
Atoms Vibrate, Cosmic Microwaves Radiate..
White Light Transmitting Celluloid Archangels...
Learning from the Masters...
Damen und Herren..
From the other side of midnight..
Hier Komen de Broadcasters.

The 888

Deep Circuit Electro Miners

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