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BONNIE AND CLYDE

SINS (with Sueco & WesGhost)

Welcome to My Blue Sky

Not Sacred

Shot In The Dark

THE MAN BEHIND THE MASK

Visions

Cruel Intentions

Temporary

SHALLOW

SHALLOW (Acoustic)

Waterfalls

LAUGH WHEN I BLEED

GHOST TOWN

White Keys

(((((ultraSOUND)))))

Hula Girl


She moves like liquid through the smoke
Pills like candy on her tongue
Someone's crying in the next room
No one knows their name

The party never ends here
Always a fresh flow
Of wicked boys and pretty girls
Putting on a show

Pretty girls with piercing eyes
Telling pretty lies
Waiting for the night to come
For the the light to quit and die
Pretty girls and with ugly souls
Dressed up to the nines
I’d sell my soul for a pretty girl
But I’ve already sold mine

There's a boy who speaks in riddles
About the end of everything
Hands shake when he lights her cigarette
He’s such a fragile thing

The music's getting slower now
Or maybe that's just how it feels
When you've been awake for days on end
And nothing seems quite real

Pretty girls with piercing eyes
Telling pretty lies
Waiting for the night to come
For the the light to quit and die
Pretty girls and with ugly souls
Dressed up to the nines
I’d sell my soul for a pretty girl
But I’ve already sold mine

I’ve already sold mine
I’ve already sold mine


Pretty Girls (Ugly Souls)

EXISTED

quiet. by eli.

"..and suddenly he brought down his bow, ripping away from the gentle caressing music of Chopin into the strong full melodies of Bartók’s Concerto for Violin, playing both orchestra lines and the violin lines in a torrent of wild, dissonant agonized notes. He saw nothing suddenly, though he knew the crowd had thickened and no music answered him from the keyboard of Sybelle. But this was his heart, his song now, as he plunged deeper and deeper into the Bartók, his tempo speeding up, becoming almost inhuman, as on and on he went. His soul sang with the music. It became his own melodies and glissandi as his thoughts sang with it. But soon his words were lost, he was no longer thinking in words or syllables but only in the music, only in the throbbing notes. He was swaying wildly as he played. He no longer cared whether or not he looked or sounded human, and deep in his heart he was aware that if he were to die now, he would not revolt against it, not with any molecule of his being, because the death sentence would come upon him by his own hand and for what he truly was. This music was what he truly was. Silence."

Antoine in "Prince Lestat", Anne Rice 

GHOST TOWN

Red Leather

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