Heißer als Sonne

Lyrics

WASTED BY THE CANAL England. Rain. Zero stars. Five pints deep. The sky looks like a resignation letter. Blanket in the mud. Cheap beer on ice. Welcome to paradise for beautifully broken minds. Woody raises a beer can like a rusted Excalibur. Tim starts preaching—nobody knows the sermon. Kerstin laughs so hard the seagulls leave town. Lucie asks the moon if losing is just another way of winning. Mifune rolls the crooked masterpiece of the century. Pofiri debates philosophy with a duck. The duck walks away. Probably won the argument. Bryce stares into the black canal, looking like a blues song wearing boots. Tim Plaul is looking for his beer… while holding it in his damn hand. We’re the kings of cheap intoxication. Smoke in our lungs. Beer in our veins. No heroes. No legends. No dignity. Just eight beautiful disasters on a soaking blanket. WASTED! Louder than the pouring rain! WASTED! Laughing straight into the pain! Raise your cans to the last surviving brain cell! If we’re going down—turn the bass up to hell! WASTED! Middle fingers to tomorrow! WASTED! Dancing with regret we borrowed! We drink to scars, mistakes and broken dreams. Nothing here is ever what it seems. The canal smells like diesel and cold french fries. The world says “Grow up.” We answer, “Why?” Kerstin starts skanking with a lonely streetlight. Woody explains gravity to the stars all night. Tim keeps rapping like a drunken philosopher king. Lucie laughs until the silence starts to sing. Mifune drops the joint into the grass. Everybody searches… like it’s sacred at last. Pofiri screams, “The future can kiss my ass!” Bryce just nods… slowly… like time itself. Tim Plaul falls backward into eternity, gets back up and yells, “I MEANT TO DO THAT!” HEY! No regrets—only stories! HEY! No saints—only glories! HEY! Beer on our shirts, mud on our boots! If this is madness… these are our roots! WASTED! With groove in our bones! WASTED! This blanket’s our throne! The slap bass hits like thunder in the chest. Tonight we outdrink all the rest. Morning crawls over the English sky. Nobody remembers who, what, when or why. Empty cans. Burnt cigarettes. Wet shoes. Nobody won. Nobody lost. And somehow… …everybody did exactly what they had to do. So when darkness falls again, the first beer cracks open, and the bass starts slapping like a freight train— You’ll find us right here… By the canal. Still laughing. Still wasted. Still absolutely impossible to save.