Detective Stories 2.0 - Memories Of Love And Crime And Death - Sgt. Frank's Mix

City Lights, Darkened Bright („City Lights...Darkened Bright“ background vocals throughout the song) The streets are bare in the soul to stare Where whores and sailors exchange a fare no hope in the dark, dark night The cats come out for a canine fight She left me hollow like a broken shell Every thief on the street can tell A taxi driver passes by No when, nowhere no matters why? Hard to swallow brutal truths I once knew a boxer named Lethal Bruce He kissed his wife Stepped into the ring And never saw his kids again A travelled round the world, you see? I never found a place to be I guess the nightly, whitely dome Is what I call my only home the drum goes boom-boom a-pop pop Don’t know where to begin and where to stop Concrete stars in the night Darkened bright The streets are bare In the soul to stare Where whores and sailors exchange a fare No hope in the dark, dark night The cats come out for a canine fight

The Board Of Dead Policemen Down at the district, near the harbor, my friend hangs the board of dead policemen which seems to have no end When the duties are done we head towards the bar we raise a glass or ten to those who’ve lost the war What we never knew is that there’s a spirit realm around us What we never knew is that spirit cops ride shotgun aside us Down at the district, near the harbor, my friend hangs the board of dead policemen which seems to have no end When the duties were done We’d head towards the bar we’d raise a glass or ten to those who’ve lost the war Tonight I sit silent and invisibly next to my Partner Slim my spirit badge I wear proudly Tonight I ride with him What we never knew is that there’s a spirit realm around us What we never knew is that spirit cops ride shotgun aside us The board of dead policemen The board of dead policemen The board of dead policemen Rise and shine

Defective Detective „Where is that detective fella?“ „In the bar“ White light turns to light He walks home from work wondering why his boss is such an incredible jerk Detective Holloway Holloway The wife left him early He missed her today The booze let him in until he was feeling okay Detective Holloway Holloway Crime rate has gone down Since he is around The beat cops call him „Hank the Bloodhound“ Detective Holloway Holloway He feels like a walking and talking clichee He needs something To break free and away Detective Holloway Holloway The trumpet is his bloody revenge After hours he plays completely unhinged Detective Holloway Holloway When Monday arrives To the precinct he drives with the women he jives this man got the jazz hives Defective Detective Holloway Defective Detective Holloway Defective Detective Holloway Defective Detective Holloway „You’re right about women being made for love. But, what happens when it never come the way you want it. Like music that never reaches a pitch?“ Defective Detective Holloway Defective Detective Holloway Defective Detective Holloway Defective Detective Holloway Yeah Yeah „Yeah you’r the one that can make the trumpet talk, and tell the truth!‘Ever you go“

A Sweet Refuge Good evening, sir What is your concern through so much work we burn Let me sing you a tune of what is going on we do not define the terms it same in the East and West From the North down to the South Let me show you what our obligations are Before you even open your mouth Coffee breaks and Cigarettes Are a Sweet Refuge From paperwork and low profiles Oh no I have been rude We’re cops out of duty Men of routine and Honor We sleep late and never rest my name is Sargeant Connor Computer screens and keyboards the ever-ringing phone We are all a team in here but we all feel alone No life, few wives We celebrate at Pete’s We might seem tired But we won’t accept defeat Coffee breaks and Cigarettes Are a Sweet Refuge From paperwork and low profiles Oh no I have been rude Coffee breaks and Cigarettes Are a Sweet Refuge From paperwork and low profiles Oh no I have been rude We’re soldiers of the Law Men of Honor We rarely eat, Crime never rests My name is Sargeant Connor

The Dame in Red There was a lovely dame That never slept Her lover died When they left she wept She came walking to my door And with her pretty mouth she swore I will not rest until the killer’s found I’m horrified – I still here the sounds You’re a sleuth that finds the truth and by the way my name is Ruth So the case began I was her man I’ll find someone let me get my gun But remember this my sweet Miss the end of wrath is often bitterness There was a time When I was good at this I’m a deadbeat cop aching for a kiss She left a scent so beautiful and right about then I almost lost my cool I solved the case In three days time you can read the news and I am fine She came and paid me pretty well She was very glad that’s what I could tell So the case began to become her man I found someone Was shot by Cupid’s gun So remember this my sweet kids your mother taught me love and tenderness The Dame in Red Got to my head the greatest crime is that she’s all mine The Dame in Red Got to my head the greatest crime is that she’s all mine The Dame in Red Got to my head the greatest crime is that she’s all mine The Dame in Red Got to my head the greatest crime is that she’s all mine

You Shot Me Down For 20 years we’ve been a team and kept each others back no matter what kind of things we’ve seen we stayed on our troopers track You’ve held my daughter in your arms sang birthday and my wedding songs Now the deed is done you backstabbing son of a gun It was Wednesday night when the time seemed right to give me a dose of lead no matter if I bleed to death you’ll shoot me in my head You’ve hugged my wife and given me five took part in every part of my life Now it’s the end of fun you backstabbing son of a gun In the midst of the brawling when I was on the floor crawling you shot me down, you shot me down my family will be bawling you decided to play all in you shot me down, you shot me down For 20 years we’ve been a team and kept each others back no matter what kind of things we’ve seen we’ve stayed on our troopers track You’ been paid a lot of dough Please don’t tell me that it ain’t so Your guilt’s gotta weigh a ton You backstabbing son of a gun Hey now, Hey now Hey now, Hey now Hey now, Hey now Hey now, Hey now I guess you found your calling when I staggered and was falling you shot me down, you shot me down You backstabbing son of a gun

The Boy And The Tower by Björn Martin Klaus Chris had always been a nature boy. From the early age of six he had been wandering the meandering paths of the forested areas around his parents’ farm, Judy and Mike by name, who were often worried sick for hours until he came home, dirty but happy as can be. As he grew older, Chris developed a natural sense of scouring the wilderness for fascinating objects and eye- catching landmarks and found many a strange item in the faded grasses and rugged bushes of the woods. Brave and curious this boy was, always scutteling through withered trees over barren hills with his little knife and backpack, never afraid of the twilight the setting sun let in or the slowly fading of the daylight into the animal-voice loudness of the warm summer night. On this particular day, Chris had set out at noon, stealing away from his parents after lunch while they were toiling away at the hard work of growing and feeding and with a joyful tune on his lips he danced his way over the meadows and into Harkwood, where many things lived and thrived but not many children played. This was his realm of adventure and solitude. And this is where his life should change for good and also, a very long, long time. Jumping from moss-covered stones to rotting logs, there were cicadas harping symphonies of the sweaty days, in thundering volume, hidden in the branches but omnipresent to the ear, our boy slips for a second, finds his balance on a bulky rock and even more convinced of his abilities, finds a new way around Miller’s Meadow into a field of surprisingly colorful lavender, many a flower turning towards him in the wind with nodding welcoming gestures of their beautfully crowned heads. Magnificently before him, a hundred feet away, the Tower. Made of stone blocks, weathered by years of storms and rain, thick in girth and massive in construction, the colossus inspires awe in young Christopher, urging him on to move his booted feet through the lavender onto the old path leading to a rusty ladder, which looks like it itself has forgotten its purpose. “Adventure, ho!” he yells into the soft wind, runs his hands excitedly through his short brown hair and is thrilled by the anticipation of the probably deadly task of climbing into the unknown heights of the giant, silent, resilient cylinder built by ancient men. One step at a time, he will not slip again. Left boot, right boot, pull. The rusty scent and grease feel of the metal bars is just even more of an adrenaline rush and on and on the ascending young scoundrel goes upward, completing the task up to half of the tower before resting his head against the cool stone in the dank summer warmth. Not to look down now, his parents would be devastated to not have him back in one piece and many years of scouting and learning the area were still to be done. Three quarters, legs are getting weary, back is itching with sweat until it is finally achieved. The ecstatic moment of reaching the top, a round circle in the meadow, near the bright Missouri sky. A body lies awkwardly bent on the round circle in the meadow, near the bright Missouri sky. A body lies awkwardly bent on the round circle in the meadow, near the bright Missouri sky. A human body lies. Shock and horror fill the boys veins, eyes and face and he nearly loses his grip on the bars. In the last moment he catches on, gripping tightly, lavender fields looking not so welcoming anymore- And he is drawn into his fate. The happy boy, the forest dancer and adventurous scoundrel steps on top of his first Mt.Everest. And moves closer, ever so slightly towards the fractured bones and rotting flesh of a man he has never seen nor known. And after staring at the remains for an uncertain but long period of time. He sits down. Falling inside. But supported by the tower which had been waiting for him for his whole youth to bring him reality and manhood in a way that will change everything for him. So it happened. And before it was dark, old Christopher made his way down the ladder, slowly into the dark, back through the woods and towards the lights of the farm, where his parents lived, Judy and Mike by name. And although in the coming weeks Judy and Mike were glad to have their son safe at home, they realized something profound and even terrible might have happened to him. But the formerly happy lips remained sealed and silent and the unknown body unrecovered. It would remain a secret, a silent bond between the Boy and the Tower. Until it was time to speak again.

The Mobster Wife’s Funeral Slowly they walk, casket in hand down the graveyard path the husband is silent and deeply grey a mountain of anger and wrath the women are crying there’s been too much dying the children are pale and still It happened so quick it happened to soon Isabella has been killed oooh what pain lies ahead oooh the Irish will wish they were dead there is no relief, just pain and no gain at the mobster wifes funeral Among them there’s talk, not now when they stand in silent salute to this dame that she came a across a new lover man a way out out of these ways I stand aside the blackclad group the rain pouring down my cheeks It happened so quick it happened to soon I’m dead once my identity leaks oooh what pain lies ahead oooh I will wish I was dead there is no relief just pain and no gain at the mobster wife’s funeral