Wortfront – Lieder eines postmodernen Arschlochs

all texts
Texts/lyrics

Time.
Text and music: Roger Stein

Time to come, time to go, and also time to miss something
, time to rush, to linger, and to hate the Christmas season.
Time is money, but money is not time, and your time can quickly run out
because time can only be owned, but time is you can’t buy it

Time holes, time difference, time cigars like ‘Momo’
And my grandma only washes with OMO for the rest of her life
And I’ll write her a few quick poems for her birthday
Because soon my grandma will be history again

I need time to live my time,
I need time to give you some of my time.
I need time to linger a little
and share the little bit of time with your little bit
. I need time to look at all the people ‘n,
I need time to go down this path with you.
I need time to try so many more things,
because while I’m here, I also want to take risks

To give time, to lose time and sometimes to gain time.
But if you want to own it, it will melt away like dust.
And if I’m slow sometimes, I don’t need to be ashamed
because I’m determined to take my time too

And I don’t rush through existence like the Tour de France in my best time.
Because I need my chance and I need a little bit of remaining time
and rest time to rest in peace
and not just rush past everything beautiful

Because my time is running away and what little time
I have is dispersing And when I cross the river where there is no more time
People will ask me and then I finally have to know
Did I use my time and how much time did I waste

I need time to sift my sand,
I need time, time to love you
. I need time to taste this green grass,
because I still want to discover so many things on this star with you
. I need time to just a little more to stay here,
I need time to write you this song
I need time to live here with you,
I need time to give you so much more time

I need time –
not eternity – just time…

Be ready because this is your time

Your future and past, so take advantage of the opportunity
And the streets of this world are wide
And I give you the whole sky as an umbrella

And then you count a few corpses and the wall clock ticks in the hallway
And the sand runs stubbornly through your life clock
Oh just a little more to drink in this beautiful world
And to spread your arms and wave to the sun

We need time, and we won’t let ourselves be blinded
We need time, and we don’t want to waste time
We need time to flow completely into ourselves
Because we want to enjoy every day on this earth
We need time, time for our thoughts
We need time to soak up as much light here
We need time, and we’re going cross-country
Because we just need time to be here a little longer…

From: Songs of a Postmodern Asshole – Wortfront 2006
Solo cello: Orfeo Mandozzi
Vocals: Sandra Kreisler & Roger Stein

Emergency Exit
Text & Music: Roger Stein

I walk along my brain looking for an emergency exit…
I walk along my brain looking for an emergency exit…

My record player has been hanging in the same groove for years
and I always just play the old song
and then I swallow my psycho pill every day
and it sings “we will be strong”
There are a few empty bottles in the corner
and strange signs are on the wall
and I have A handful of pain in my pockets
but still a heap of hope in my hand

A woman hangs her longing on the clothesline
and her husband hangs it up right next to it,
but soon it will be Christmas again,
even though I’m already buying Easter eggs
and I’m putting my dreams in a rubber boat
and sending them far, far across the sea,
but suddenly I’m scared that I’m missing something
and then I row after them

I walk along my brain looking for an emergency exit…
I walk along my brain looking for an emergency exit…

A trick question begins within itself
And the connoisseur no longer knows himself
And what has been unsaid a thousand times
over wants to come out through a thin tongue
A lonely old demonstrator
unsettles the entire city center,
even if the special police
have already sealed everything off

I walk along my brain looking for an emergency exit…
I walk along my brain looking for an emergency exit…

A stranger sits in the anteroom of my soul
And I wade senselessly through time
Spread the days and the years
In the barrage of reality
I have boring old sand in the gears of my brain
And you define love for me…

I walk along my brain like this and look for an emergency exit
. A nerve cord is stuck in my head, I can’t get any reception today. I
walk along my brain like this and look for an emergency exit…
I walk along my brain like this and look for an emergency exit. ..

From: Songs of a Postmodern Asshole – Wortfront 2006

Autumn Maneuver
Text & Music: Roger Stein

Summer was a great time,
and yesterday it was even brighter
. The days are becoming half as wide,
the shadows are rising faster

The warm security begins to waver, lukewarm and soft.
Autumn rams its colors into summer’s flanks.
The world becomes more colorful again
and separates itself from the ballast. On the beach , one last bather
bravely remains. The sun gives the grain its final dressing. The German hobby craftsman is still repairing his heating With a hardware store – because it has to be good A brief happiness in love misses the last kiss Because when the days get dark the lightness becomes a burden And many a new couple realizes that they don’t fit together The apartment is too small for a love that doesn’t true So now you stay alone, next summer will definitely come

Autumn maneuvers – the doors and gardens are locked
Autumn maneuvers – one thinks about the hardships
Autumn maneuvers – thoughts are confused
But everyday life, everyday life, comes back tough and bleak

The fruits hang heavily and ripen again in competition.
It smells of destruction as part of the chain of life
. Views become duller,
streets are wider .
A flock of swallows stops
and immediately flies on again
. Nature goes into a long shot, into one last big tree.
We drink our stomachs still full of our youthful dreams
and other illusions,
because the nights will
never get colder so intense
– we are getting older.
Joys get corners and they cut deep wrinkles.
The last remnants of summer die
in the cracks
. Winds rush low
and herald execution.
A tired one Optimism, clarifies itself – and takes cover.

Autumn maneuvers – the doors and gardens are locked
Autumn maneuvers – one thinks about the hardships
Autumn maneuvers – thoughts are confused
But everyday life, everyday life, comes back tough and bleak

The year is counting its days
and it is already longing for a turnaround. And the season is now coming to an end
for uptight peeping Toms. The leaves and hope are fluttering down fatalistically. Statistically , suicide rates are finally rising again

In the alleys, innkeepers are clearing their benches into the cellar
. The landscape is breathing out, the city’s pulse is getting faster again. The
whole of Europe is throwing itself into the familiar work vest
. The gray everyday life has brought us up – maybe that’s the best thing for us?

From: Songs of a Postmodern Asshole – wortfront 2006

Vocals: Sandra Kreisler
Solo cello: Séverine Ballon

Mercenaries of the present
Text and music: Roger Stein

I am immune to tits that stand for any product.
I am immune to dreams that crouch in daylight.
I am immune to ideals, because they die as a slogan.
I am immune to Günther Jauch and the dream of big money
I am immune to rain, I don’t even get wet.
I am immune to love, because it always wants something
. I am immune to people, because they always have something in mind
. I am immune even when they die next to me

Get down to earth,
I don’t have time for playing with the abstract, I
‘ll always stay smart but tough, fire open and full steam ahead
because I’m a mercenary of the present.
Get down to earth…

I am immune to winds, because they only want to direct you
. I am immune to thoughts when they think of others.
I am immune to life, because that only leads to death.
I am immune to advertising and every special offer
. I am immune to laughter , then come the tears
I’m immune to sitcoms that make me yawn
Immune to cuddly rock and adapted show pop
Because I’m giving you a postmodern blow job here

Get down to earth,
I don’t have time for playing with the abstract, I
‘ll always stay smart but tough, fire open and full steam ahead
because I’m a mercenary of the present.
Get down to earth…

Everywhere out there on the wide slopes
they shoot at defenseless civilians with dreams,
promising you the big revelation for a few cents
But security is only new food for my doubts
And I carry my smarts all the way to the owl’s nest
And hold on to the rest of a few Pillars solid
I have my heart at home,
but my mind is hard
because I am a mercenary of the present

Get down to earth,
I don’t have time for playing with the abstract, I
‘ll always stay smart but tough, fire open and full steam ahead
because I’m a mercenary of the present.
Get down to earth…

(From: Songs of a Postmodern Asshole – wortfront 2006)

No proof
lyrics and music: Roger Stein

The fact that I’m breathing is no proof that I’m alive.
That my heart is beating, no proof that I’m shaking
. That I’m getting something, no proof that I’m striving for something
. That I’m getting somewhere, no proof that I’m moving anything

That I bend over, no proof that I duck
That it scratches me, no proof that I really itch
That I don’t puke, no proof that I don’t swallow a lot
That I don’t throw a stone, no proof that I don’t spit

The fact that I am going is not yet proof of a where
And a reason has never been proof of a meaning
The fact that I am coming is not proof of a from where and a from where
And a lot of the one is not yet proof of anything more

The fact that I’m running isn’t proof that I’m not running
That I’m lining up isn’t proof that I’m buying something
That I’m swimming isn’t proof that I’m not drowning here
And the fact that I’m waiting isn’t proof of anything for what

Keep moving – always have your shoes ready.
A pair of warm socks is no guarantee.
Keep moving – no matter what happens.
Someone has already counted you as a loss

That you are not blind, no proof that you see anything,
that something is wet, no proof that it also flows,
that you sow something, no proof that your seed also sprouts,
that someone is planting it, no proof that he is on someone else ‘n shoots

The fact that someone asks is no proof that he doesn’t take it easy.
That the screen says something is no proof that it is true.
That someone smiles is no proof that he isn’t also secretly grinning
. That he lends you something is no proof that he doesn’t pay interest on it

The fact that someone is helping you is not proof that they actually support you
. That someone needs you is not proof that they are not just using you
. That someone is rich is not proof that they themselves are sweating for it
. That someone is strong is not proof that it protects you in an emergency

Keep moving – always have your shoes ready.
A few good old friends are no guarantee of security.
Keep moving – no matter what happens.
Someone has already counted you as a loss

The fact that someone is standing is not proof that they have never been lying. That they
can do something is not proof that you can do it yourself
. That you are alone is not proof that no one likes you
. That it is night is not proof of you new day.

Your hiding is no proof that I don’t name it
That I’m scared, no proof that I’m running because of it
That I stay cool, no proof that I don’t really burn
And that I love you – no proof that I know you

From: Songs of a Postmodern Asshole – wortfront 2006

Vocals: Sandra Kreisler

summer child

Text & Music: Roger Stein

She is different from the others, and her language goes far past us.
But when she smiles, she smiles with ease, tearing your whole heart in two.
She scatters her love without filters – like the day, its daily light
. And the few gray, strange glances even fall not of any importance
. Her world knows a thousand colors and they are free of any useful value.
And when she stumbles and when it rains, it rains past her

She’s a summer child,
she’s a summer child
Like most people aren’t even in summer anymore
She’s a summer child,
she’s a summer child
And she hangs her quiet smile in the summer wind
She’s a summer child,
she’s a summer child

She just looks at the clouds for hours and each one has its own face
Beauty is a part of relativity, only we – we don’t see it
She lives according to no plan, no strategy, only picks the chips from the moment
She knows, even if there is one God gives, he only laughs at plans
But even where there is nothing for us, she always perceives something.
In every silence there are sounds, quiet, inaudible

She’s a summer child,
she’s a summer child
Like most people aren’t even in summer anymore
She’s a summer child,
she’s a summer child
And she hangs her quiet smile in the summer wind
She’s a summer child,
she’s a summer child

It has no function in the overall system: it is just because it is.
There is no one who needs it, who uses it,
but also no one who misses it

She’s a summer child,
she’s a summer child
Like most people aren’t even in summer anymore
She’s a summer child,
she’s a summer child
And she hangs her quiet smile in the summer wind
She’s a summer child,
she’s a summer child

From: Songs of a Postmodern Asshole – wortfront 2006
Solo cello: Séverine Ballon

Schwalbe
lyrics & music: Roger Stein

You are you, you believed, and there is no one else here like you.
But at some point you realize that you are just one
of the millions upon millions who live on this globe.
They live here like drones, clinging to their short lives

You always dream of saving the world as Mister Spok.
And you don’t want anything other than to make yourself comfortable.
And your dreams cling to you like chains
and because you don’t finish anything, you don’t start anything

You can’t do everything and nothing is enough.
And you think you’re happy, but that’s just a deception.
And the train of life is flying past you.
It doesn’t matter to you – because you know you’re not free

You know you can’t fly…
You know you can’t fly
You stand deserted on the runway
and look at a few swallows
swaying in the sky
But you can’t fly

All water flows into the sea at some point
But you don’t even cry after your tears anymore
You’re already so empty – or do you say realist?
All words that describe that you have become heavy

That you have become someone who stands on firm feet.
Your heart is no longer easily and quietly twisted every summer.
The pain is gone, and with it your loved ones too
. And only you alone are left here

You know you can’t fly…
You know you can’t fly
You stand deserted on the runway
and look at a few swallows
swaying in the sky
But you can’t fly

The dust is tough and the leaves at your feet…
And someone sends you warm greetings from your vacation
And so you circle around
And you know you’ll never be wise
And you think quietly: I’m just passing through

You know you can’t fly…
You know you can’t fly
You stand deserted on the runway
and look at a few swallows
swaying in the sky
But you can’t fly

(From: Songs of a Postmodern Asshole – wortfront 2006)
Vocals: Sandra Kreisler

First a coffee
Text & Music: Roger Stein

You should get much more involved.
You shouldn’t copy opinions.
You should reflect yourself
– but that’s not so easy.

You should stay politically more awake.
You should criticize yourself. Sign
something for the rainforest
– even if sometimes it’s enough

You should know your Schiller
You should call a spade a spade
You should also separate the waste
– and do it properly

You should chain your bike well
You shouldn’t bet on horses
And you should save this earth
– but only in passing

Please leave me alone and just be quiet for a moment.
There is so much that you should and so little that you want

But I want a coffee first –
I want a coffee first.
A coffee and two sugars and a breakfast egg.
And then I’ll certainly be happy to have it

I want a coffee first –
I want a coffee first
A coffee and a croissant with a little butter on it
And then I’m ready and get started right away

You should be optimistic.
You shouldn’t piss on trees.
You should know grandma’s birthday
– at least this year.

You should curb consumerism.
You shouldn’t beat up black people.
You should iron your shirts properly
– that’s clear to everyone

You should be open more often Be
really affected by tsunamis
Should be less drunk
– which is unfortunately rarely possible

You should overcome crises
And stop animal testing
I want to find a parking space first
– we’re already too late

Please leave me alone and just be quiet for a moment.
There is so much that you should and so little that you want

But I want a coffee first –
I want a coffee first
A coffee, a BMW, and a garden and a house
And then things will look better in my calendarBut I want a coffee first –
I want a coffee first A coffee
first and a seat on a supervisory board.
And then I’m ready and immediately take action

Please don’t make a fuss or make such a noise.
I’m only about 30 – you’re not awake yet.
The few pangs of conscience aren’t enough to make me feel ashamed.
You just mind your own business first

And about the turnips and radishes in your own garden bed.
A lot of things are too abstract – but radishes are concrete
. Tell me, how do the others – all of whom I see around me – do it?
I suspect that they all want to…

First a coffee –
we want a coffee first
A coffee, a bonus and my vacation money
and then we save the whole world

First a coffee –
First a coffee
First a coffee and a pension and some security
And then we are finally ready for action

I want a coffee first –
I want a coffee first,
a coffee and a penthouse in the city center
but before that my strength is unfortunately terribly weak

I want a coffee first –
I want a coffee first
A coffee and see my grandchildren when I’m old
And then it’s too late – then I have to go anyway

From: Songs of a Postmodern Asshole – wortfront 2006

Passenger of insignificance
Lyrics and music: Roger Stein

A quick handshake – a greeting – say casually: CU
He did it his way – and that’s the way we do
A look that means nothing, a coffee, still standing
You send an empty smile as you walk past,

suppressed around your eyes one more muscle, one movement
We have to move on again – always keep moving
A few young, strong warriors stand scattered on the horizon
And long in vain for a clear front

Because a little self-development, partial self-formation
is our right to human and species-appropriate Attitude
Even if your own longing emigrates from your heart.
No, I have no doubts – I’m super motivated.

We are passengers of insignificance
for the hunger of our souls there is no more bread
We are sterile inside,
but our condition remains stable
There is no goal in this game
and we don’t expect much either
Because we are passengers of insignificance
And roll forward as if everything would be in balance.
Only our love is our last defense

What should we fight against and what else should we criticize?
Criticism is often just a way to delegate responsibility.
Let the insatiable dive for their pearls.
We basically have everything, everything we need

A little longing to pawn – and a few deeds on the hands
that make you dirty.
Complaints hung on the roof – and a few repressed questions
that make you suspicious

A handful of quicksand for the gearbox – and half a kilo of love
for mixing it yourself,
a bit of courage with sweat goggles – and a pack of free will
to wipe your ass

We are passengers of insignificance
for the hunger of our souls there is no more bread
We are sterile inside,
but our condition remains stable
There is no goal in this game
and we don’t expect much either
Because we are passengers of insignificance
And roll forward as if everything would be in balance.
Only our love is our last defense

Our caution is the last bit left – of our instinct
I signal that I may be “for”
If we define “where to” less
precisely After all, you don’t want to be blocked by conditions!

Even a good old friend who drifts away in the stream of years
Is nothing but an amount that you write off from your taxes
Yes, we were close once and the memory is nice
But at some point everyone has to go their own way again

Because that is our lot .
And this is our little time.
And we are afraid of any kind of commitment.
If I were a group, then I would scream something.
But my passport says: “You are all alone.”

We are passengers of insignificance
for the hunger of our souls there is no more bread
We are sterile inside,
but our condition remains stable
There is no goal in this game
and we don’t expect much either
Because we are passengers of insignificance
And roll forward as if everything would be in balance.
Only our love is our last defense

From: Songs of a Postmodern Asshole – wortfront 2006
Vocals: Sandra Kreisler

Postmodern Asshole
Lyrics and Music: Roger Stein

Are you young and dynamic and have an
independent, goal-oriented workflow,
competent communication skills –
as well as a confident demeanor and winning appearance
with natural authority?
Are you enthusiastic, spontaneous and resilient
and have a lot of initiative and highly motivated ability to work in a team?
Then send us your application!

I drive a BMW and eat pork hamburgers.
I’m with Greenpeace and the WWF and then I go to sleep.
I’m for peace and for whales and I’m also a pacifist.
But please, please only as long as it’s profitable

I swim autonomously in the flow and am still independent.
I am always just a symptom and am agile against every objection. I
am a consultant and designer and creative manager.
I am a contemporary prototype and a substitute place holder

I am dynamic like an eel and mentally polygamous.
I think mechanically, American and live very titanically.
I am flexible, disposable and quite insensitive.
I am fungibly intangible – but always: COMPATIBLE

I’m a postmodern asshole,
and I’ll tell you now.
I’m a postmodern asshole,
even if that’s none of your business!
I’m a postmodern asshole
and I’m in every one of you’s shoes
because I’m so fashionable

I am demonstrative, innovative, incredibly productive.
I am so communicative, interactive, active in fitness.
I am informed and optimized, computer-savvy, well-versed.
And my opinion comes already pre-formatted

Because I can banish stubbornness and doubt from afar.
I remain willing to compromise – up to the limit.
I’m a solo player – but team-oriented
. Don’t run off to the sidelines: I stay integrated into the mainstream

I’m so trendy and agile – a convinced omnivore.
I do everything better and I don’t run into trouble. I
‘m a suppressor and a forgetter, with no remaining goals
. I’m a lucrative pest like the Bayreuth Festival

I’m a postmodern asshole,
and I’ll tell you now.
I’m a postmodern asshole,
even if that’s none of your business!
I’m a postmodern asshole
and I’m in every one of you’s shoes
because I’m so fashionable

I have an ego that floats on wings like Red Bull.
Loyalty whose value tends to zero
Stay relative; And keep your eyes open
when it comes to a subject – but I am never affected myself.
I am a variable – I am
the
I captivate as a paradigm with the power of my bending.
I am the man without qualities, but with conviction!

I’m a postmodern asshole,
and I’ll tell you now.
I’m a postmodern asshole,
even if that’s none of your business!
I’m a postmodern asshole
and I’m in every one of you’s shoes
because I’m so fashionable

From: Songs of a Postmodern Asshole – wortfront 2006.
Vocals: Sandra Kreisler & Roger Stein

Heart
lyrics & music: Roger Stein

It’s your heart, and I’m not joking when I say, don’t you notice
how quietly I’m beating?
I know you’re not listening – and I’m still talking
. Do you even know that I still exist?
You have long since forgotten me, you haven’t loved me for so long
Yes, I’m shaking and I’m alive, shoot the blood into his path
But for you I’m just a pumping organ
How did I deserve to be your poor heart
? I can But just throb, because I don’t have a mouth to scream
day in and day out, but
no sunshine hits me in your tight chest, because you don’t let it in.
When you were still a child, I jumped high,
along with the hearts of all the other boys,
and we sang and could rejoice loudly.
But today I have to crouch quietly in your dark interior, dry
with tears – I’m long since house trained.
I have learned to be a grown-up heart
Don’t interfere with me, just lean me to the port side
At some point we’ll both be carried away in the sack
I have a duty of confidentiality, even if I don’t do it
Even if I don’t just do the duty like spleen and stomach I
mean it every day 24 hour shift
with no prospect of a light that only works for you.
My call fades away and falls silent in your veins
. I say it with every beat, but you don’t hear it, my longing
for love, for
life to give another heart
If you want to own me alone, you will lose me even more.
Because I will soon freeze to death in your narrow bars.
I’m not built – to be alone in your chest.
It beats so much easier, another heart joins in
. I am your source, I am your life, your where from and your where to
. And you can only be happy if I am too.
Ultimately I was born with you in your own womb
But you screwed it up and lost your heart for yourself
I’m tired – oh what else can I say to you
I’ve long since only done it out of duty than to make your heart beat for you
But the day will come when I just don’t want to anymore
And maybe then you’ll figure it out: because then I’ll stand…

From: Songs of a Postmodern Asshole – wortfront 2006