“A glance at the wardrobe, it’s twenty after four, which is always before, man, what are you doing here? You talk to yourself, because the moment has come when you are no longer lmagst and obnoxious. You go to you on the nerve, standing like a stranger next to you and see you go off and on like a caged animal in the room, the more so as a courtesy, you’ve checked the light and sound, you know, the guys who make the longest without you perfectly. You play on an old piece, but the text does not occur to you, you feel a cold fever is common and insidious. You agree about the instrument, of course it’s true a long time, just put it away again, and you feel sick, and you think:

You must be mad to go out there, all alone, despite all the agony that paralyze you and grind. You must be crazy, you put in to the relentless glaring headlights, and you scream the guts out, you must be crazy!

Someone hands you a purely two letters a child writes that it has today birthday, and has long been looking forward to the evening. And an old lady who comes every time, writes that one who knows every song, and not a blunder remains hidden. The two stand all for all ‘those whose history do not know you, and that makes you burn but now stage fright. You can not eat, can not drink, you can do anything, you have to be better today than ever before, your head is empty. You sneak behind the curtain, man, what have your lost here, you must ask to die sick bor’n a peephole in the curtain? You feel like a sleepwalker who wakes up on the roof, and you know the gable number that you’ve never had any effect.

You must be crazy …..

The hours are gone, you’re dumb and happy at the end of your songs in front of your audience. It’s as if you had a long conversation led her became concerned, angry, was delighted, and became agitated. And if a laugh, a round of applause flew across the rows, and when it was suddenly very quiet, it was like a dialogue. Dazed and exhausted you are you one last time before bowing friendly faces in the big dark room. A girl gave you a small bouquet brought forward by clapping all crushed, making it only makes you even more. And you know once more, there is a grace to be standing here, and even harder to act than it is now to go.

You must be mad to go out there, all alone, despite all the agony that paralyze you and grind. You must be crazy, you put in to the relentless glaring headlights, and you scream the guts out, you must be crazy!”

My father loved this singer many years to come. Even at the grave of songs were played.
Greetings from
Melli