From the rust-worn fence to the broken wheel
A whisper on the wind, a fear you can feel
Like the devil's breath on a humid night
A secret buried deep beneath the fading light

From the crooked path where the shadows creep
To the promise that a soul can't keep
A trail of dust and a whispered name
Lost in the fire of a dying flame

The mockingbird sings its bitter tune
'Neath the cold, indifferent, harvest moon
A hand that reaches, a hand that's pulled away
Another long night bleeds into another day

From the crooked path where the shadows creep
To the promise that a soul can't keep
A trail of dust and a whispered name
Lost in the fire of a dying flame

The scent of pine, the taste of rain
Washing away the memory of pain
But a ghost in the weeds still calls to me
A promise of what can never be

From the crooked path where the shadows creep
To the promise that a soul can't keep
A trail of dust and a whispered name
Lost in the fire of a dying flame

Lost in the Fire

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¡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.

Lost in the Fire

FOCKMASTER