The telephone

The telephone has blank eyes that never blink,
A mute voice and scream.

With it I'm by your side
Whispering nasty dirty secrets
Wiping your tears or just hello.

The telephone can be a sword or a door.
It's like a fire waiting to be lit and send only smoke.

Camden

Walking by Camden Town
Boots tatoos chains piercings.
Alone around the corner
Grass Speed Coke Skunk.

Drinking some pints.
Pissing on dark alleys.
Camden boy is just one
Punk Clubber Rasta Gothic
In one dark colorful crowd.

Palestine free

In the chattered streets of London,
For Palestine thousands rally.
British Arabs Cubans Africans
As one boundless Palestine.

- Palestine free!
We cry for the falling bombs.
May the powerful
In their dark rooms
understand our simple message.
'Cause the powerless
Are tired of knowing it.

Berlin beat

As the snow falls over cold Berlin,
Warned hearts walk down the street.
This may not be a free city
And under the command of the allied powers
This city dances to the beat of love.

This is a House of free people,
Warmed hearts, music until the dawn.
In the city of Berlin where dreams come true
Punks and Nazis roam the streets
Spreading wonder, wild hairs, fear, leather.
Even they dance to the beat of this House.

The snow falls over cold Berlin.
Bright morning, deep clubbing
The beat in here never ends.