The dust on the window pane, a film of fading light,
Reflects the empty spaces where laughter burned so bright.
The photographs are scattered, faces worn and thin,
A silent testament to where we both have been.
We stood here hand-in-hand, beneath a sky so vast,
Believing every moment, forever meant to last.

And time, it crawls and races on, a relentless, hungry tide,
That washes at the edges where our two lives used to ride.
We row in separate vessels now, the spray stings at my face,
And the silence in between us is a cold and hollow space.
We're drifting apart, my dear, as gentle as the breeze,
Like autumn leaves that tumble down from once connected trees.

I still recall the warmth of you, the solace in your gaze,
The promises we whispered through those long and hazy days.
We built a world together, brick by weary brick,
A fortress strong and solid, we thought it couldn't break so quick.
But paths diverge in shadows, and choices softly fall,
And now we walk in separate storms, beyond each other's call.

And time, it crawls and races on, a relentless, hungry tide,
That washes at the edges where our two lives used to ride.
We row in separate vessels now, the spray stings at my face,
And the silence in between us is a cold and hollow space.
We're drifting apart, my dear, as gentle as the breeze,
Like autumn leaves that tumble down from once connected trees.

Perhaps on some far shoreline, when the tempest starts to cease,
We'll glimpse a fleeting memory of that forgotten peace.
A shadow of a feeling, a whisper in the air,
That hints at the connection that we could no longer share.

And time, it crawls and races on, a relentless, hungry tide,
That washes at the edges where our two lives used to ride.
We row in separate vessels now, the spray stings at my face,
And the silence in between us is a cold and hollow space.
We're drifting apart, my dear, as gentle as the breeze,
Like autumn leaves that tumble down from once connected trees.

Down from connected trees...
The wind just carries on... carries on...

Down from connected trees...

Bookings only privat! Contact here or follow Instagram or Facebook link 

¡Shpiln di griln tantsn di vantsn!
The emptiness of various Corona lockdowns made Focke the Fockmaster. Musically, he tried out various styles to end up where everything once ended. Techno. 
With classical eight-year music training on the cello, pubescent excursions into New Wave music, everything followed a logic at the end of the 90s. Techno.

¡Shpiln di griln tantsn di vantsn!
Die Leere diverser Corona-Lockdowns machte Focke zum Fockmaster. Musikalisch probierte er sich stilistisch divers aus, um am Ende dorthin zu gelangen, wo alles einst endete. Techno. 
Mit klassischer achtjähriger Musikausbildung am Violoncello, pubertären Ausflügen in die New Wave Musik folgte Ende der 90er Jahre alles einer Logik. Techno.

Down from connected trees...

FOCKMASTER