Daemon…
I got a nasty daemon sitting on my shoulder whispering,
hard sex, whisky and cigars – that’s not what he’s showing me,
it’s a daemon of the rock bands from the ’70s
and this ghost is slowly driving me crazy…
I got these dreams of a guy called Reed on a Zeppelin,
I saw the landing on Mars with my very own eyes
and everywhere I go,
I see dead bodies of chords I thought I used to know;
white daemon,
I’m on my knees and getting sick for the 47th week,
I can’t control the need to rock and roll,
please have some mercy on my soul…
Daemon,
this need is slowly eating on my iron core
and with each day I turn more into a music whore,
an evil grin upon the face, a dirty Vixen with no name,
so I wrote lyrics on my walls from the bottom to the stars,
for one must get the words to find a door
like a magic incantation of a sorts …
Oh dark daemon,
talking nonsense on the backbone of my world,
release me from my contract
give me a life of endless sin, I’ll do anything,
but please put and end to dreams
and shut the voices killing from within…