The dark youth’s favourite instruments,
were cellos & oboes & sometimes solo trumpets & trombones. He loved to listen to Germanic ladies singing
in thick, throaty accents.
He particularily enjoyed the Warholian wench,
Who accompanied herself on sunken harmoniums. Her dark, menancing voice cut through him
like a chainsaw massacre
‘This is the end, beautiful friend..’
Germanic rhinemaidens,
all angles, blonde hair & boots,
pouting mouth, that upturned nose,
that certain air of chilly aloofness,
that Wagnerian walk & those boyish hips,
speaking English vith a very curt accent. ‘Velcome’,you said,
vith the trace of a quick smile.
Living in toy town villages,
in quaint little dolls houses, on the edge of HanselGreteland,
where your lives are measured,
by the precise tick-tocks of cuckooclocks. When you step out,
its into precision-made tiny Volksvagenbeetles, that take you exactly vere you vont to go.
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