The lemon tree, it weeps so low, 
For lovers lost, and shadows grow. 
The river flows, a silver thread, 
Where whispered vows, forever fled. 

Oh, the lemon tree, it knows it all, 
Of lovers' tears, and autumn's fall. 
Of promises, like leaves that fly, 
And dreams that fade beneath the sky.


The moon above, a silver tear, 
Reflects the grief, and fading year. 
The crickets chirp, a mournful sound, 
Where happiness, no more is found. 

Oh, the lemon tree, it knows it all, 
Of lovers' tears, and autumn's fall. 
Of promises, like leaves that fly, 
And dreams that fade beneath the sky.

But hope remains, a tiny spark, 
A flicker bright, in darkest dark. 
For spring will come, and birds will sing, 
And life will bloom, on gentle wing. 

Oh, the lemon tree, it knows it all, 
Of lovers' tears, and autumn's fall. 
Of promises, like leaves that fly, 
And dreams that fade beneath the sky. 

Yet still it stands, the lemon tree, 
A symbol strong, of memory. 
A reminder soft, of love's sweet grace, 
And time's slow hand, upon this place.

Whispers Of The Lemon Tree

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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.

Whispers Of The Lemon Tree

FOCKMASTER