Love Knows No Bounds

taking the first step twice

(Shalala... Shalala... love you... love you...)
(Step into the void... blow-dry king alone...)

Shalala I love you... (love you... love you...)
Shalala I need you... (need you... need you...)
Lose you... every time... (every... every time...)
I knew it better... (knew it... better... never mattered...)

Mustache proud... (proud... proud...)
Glasses shine...
Blow-dry flies... (flies... flies away...)
Preach the world... alone alone... (preach... alone...)

Big wedding lights... (lights... gone...)
No love survive...
Empty halls... empty hearts... (hearts... hearts...)

Shalala...
I love you... (I love you...)
I need you... (I need you...)
Lose you... (lose you...)
Never mattered... (matter... matter...)

Young girl sleep...
Doors closed tight...
Tolerance teach...
Tolerance take flight... (flight... flight...)
Third bride run...
Stereo cry...
Alone again...
Under the dub sky... (sky... sky...)

Shalala... never mattered... (mattered... mattered...)
Shalala... blown away... (away... away...)
Shalala... inna empty hall...
Dancing... solo... forever... (ever... ever...)

The Corny Music Lover (Dub Version)

The best four minutes

Moonbee Dreams

May I introduce myself?
My name is Master Tailor Dolejschli.
I live in Vienna, right there on Quellenstraße —
yes, directly next to Hertha’s cursed ground.
Painful, I know.
But I remain loyal to my club:
Rudolfshügel – the white ballet on muddy ground.
They’re playing again today.
Wanna come?
Better wear shoes you don’t mind losing.

Between Troststraße and Reichenbach,
that’s where the heart beats — in time with the muck.
Herzgasse stirs, Leebgasse shakes,
when our Hügel finally awakes.

The pitch runs deep, the lines run bent,
white kits turn brown — without lament.
And Franz Prohaska – forgotten, like so many,
but back then, he was there,
and shaped our tactics, space, and memory.

And once again, Franz is out of position,
Hey friend — don’t forget your mission!
You drift to the center like it’s divine,
but out on the wing you abandon the line.
And once again, you’re not where you belong,
like the flank just never fit your song.
The shape collapses, the rivals score —
and I spill my beer once more!

And of course — the ticket sale failed again.
Three men at the gate. Two looked away.

They just walked in, like always before,
no ticket, no order, just love for the sport.
The money’s gone, the chalk box bare,
instead of new kits we stitch and repair.

The stands are full, the crowd's a shout —
and Franz? Out of place, and fouling it out.

And once again, Franz is out of position,
Hey friend — don’t forget your mission!
You want the center — to shine, to command,
but wide on the right, you let it unmanned.
And once again, your post is gone,
and once again, we’re played upon.
The rivals glide through the open seam —
and my pulse explodes like a broken machine.

He came out of nowhere.
No birth record, no address.
Just… there.
And how he played — wild, wrong, brave.
And then?
Gone.
No diaries, no photos, no farewell notes.
As if he never existed.

Some win trophies, others gain fame,
Franz disappeared — no flowers, no name.
But those who saw him can’t forget:
A wanderer, yes. But with no regret.

And once again, Franz is out of position,
Hey Franz… don’t forget your mission.
The field is empty, the match long done,
but I’m still here...
and shouting on.


Franz Prohaska (Deep House Version)

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🔥 New Track Out Now! 🔥  
Title: [Half of Me Stayed]  
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