Küsse - süßer als griechischer Wein (ROMANA) (German Edition)

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Take hold of my hair. You should have the brown hand of a gardener, which in autumn feels the warm fruit. When I was grasping your limbs in play, Or as we were rowing, you were even more distant And far more enraptured. Yes, you were not that person At all, whose flesh I grasped. It is different now. Then, I will dance before you. Every limb Shall be a hall of tepid red, Which is awaiting you. So I lift my legs out of the sand And my breast likewise.

My dress, away from my hips. So sang my dream — Woman dancing: There is a rattling From the sea and around my hips.


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In the clouds The curls in my hair turn to dust — Man: Now the storm bends the bushes apart and all the nests that are there for sleep and breeding — Woman: Oh, sun, You mother of roses — come, you. Let us go Down again onto this warm sand made fertile by the sea. What is this hairy breast, hairy thigh On skin covered with sweat and fat, a blood flowing womb?

What has this to do with you and me? Why do you now lie in the sand, you white flesh, Why do you not run and trickle into the sea? Why do there not come birds above you As they do above other flesh? Keep your folding still! I now greet you, chewed away stones, And you, my blood, thrown down by the corpses of all the seas, you riveted land without fruit, that staggering, Stands on the edge of the earth. Ihr Freund arbeitet in der Hosentasche. Vielleicht handelt es sich um einen ausgetretenen Bruch.

Er ist der Pionier der guten Sache. Er weidet ihre Lippen ab. Lower down her arm, her thumbs, Balls of fat, are busy moving back and forth. She has brown skin, is motherly-looking and wants to kiss him. I like it, because this woman is completely unknown to me. Her boyfriend is fiddling in his trouser pockets. Perhaps they have just started to break up. The manager make sure that very one pays their way. He is a pioneer of the good cause.

His oversized toes make an attempt along with his ankles to escape from his boots. People are guzzling at the next table. I have never actually found one who has understood What makes makes wind mills turn. I record that as a statistic. He nibbles at her lips. Their bodies are playing together Unheard melodies. D-Zug Braun wie Kognak. Vorletzter Tag des neunten Monats schon! Und dann wieder dies Bei-sich-selbst-sein! Eine Frau ist etwas mit Geruch.

The Express train Berlin — Trelleborg and the Baltic sea resorts. Flesh that went naked, and tanned to the lips by the sea. And yearning for the scythe: And already almost the last day of the ninth month! Stubble and the last shocks of hay thirst in us. Unfoldings, the blood, the weariness. The presence of dahlias clouds the mind. Sun-browned manhood hurries onto sun-browned womanhood. A woman is something for a night. And if it was good, perhaps for a second!

But then, oh, again this being by oneself! A woman is something with a smell. She contains the South, the shepherd and the sea. On each slope a pleasure lies. Lightly-tanned woman swoons onto darkly-tanned male. In my head, I am so weary. Oh, this feverish sweet final smell from the gardens. Kasino Menge war schon auf Kriegsschule ein Idiot. Na Prost, Onkel Doktor! Aber wenn ich mich mal auf Abbruch verheirate: Arm kann er sein und dumm kann er sein; Aber jung und frisch gebadet. Auf dieser Basis fanden wir uns. Although there are different opinions on this.

You, the Junker, you can gee up with me when I ride. The still before the storm: Arnim, my dear fellow. You are quite incorrigible! It must be pretty interesting. The seats are supposed to be really small. Rather less morality And a bit more of a fine leg. What sort of figures have you built on this common ground? Everyone saw the joke. Herbst Todstumme Felder an mein Dorf gelehnt.

Nirgend mehr Purpur oder junge Glut. Nur in der Georginen Sehnsuchtsaugen brennt noch des Sommers wundervolles Blut. Bald wird auch dies die Erde in sich saugen. The scattered chicory and scabiosa offer a little consolation. While the rangy twigs of a rose bush spread themselves, devoid of bloom, along a fence.

No more purple or fresh glowing. Only in the yearning eyes of the Georgia does the summer still burn full of wonder. But soon also this will be sucked up by the earth into itself. Kinder, lasst Euch das nicht gefallen! Mit uns wird Schindluder getrieben. Soll ich damit atmen? Soll da vielleicht der kleine Kreislauf durchgehn? Alles was recht ist! Das geht zu weit! Wie bin ich hergekommen? Wie aus dem Ei gepellt! Und das rechte Herzohr brauchte auch nicht grade aus meinem After rauszusehn!

Des Landes Lippe nagt: Wo sass deine Kotfistel, fragt man sich? Ich bin aufgestiegen wie ein junger Adler. Children, you do not have to put up with this! They are treating us like rubbish. Who, for example, has thrown my brain into my breast cavity? Am I supposed to breath through this?

Is my faint blood circulation supposed to flow through it? By all that is right and fair! This is going too far! How did I get here? As if peeled from an egg!! And my heart valve on the right side does not need to be poking out of my arse! That looks like I have got hemeroids.

Soil and worms will soon be going through me. The lips of the land gnaw: And in the dark towers of the limbs Eternal earth cries out with joy. Freed from my tear-drenched Cage. Freed from hunger and the sword. And as the seagulls flee in winter Over the sweet water: Where does my breast come to an end? Where does my stomach start? Where can we find your excrement fistula, someone asks? A completely different constitution. The navel has been thrown overboard. Back to nature seems the best way to go. Men, hairy and randy.

Women, cowardly and deceitful, Driven out of your shit-lives, Whined around by human beasts. I have ascended like a youg eagle. Ich will ein ausgeschlenkertes Meer sein, du Affe! Your voice, the expression in your eyes, your ear lobes Mean nothing to me. I want to push you in your shoulders. I want to spead myself over you.

I want to be a sea at high tide, you idiot! They are soft, white, large, As if from the flesh of the womb. But you are wearing a good English suit. You can come with me. But, of course, bring a solid gold coin. Europe, this piece of snot Europe, this piece of snot Out of the nose of a confirmation pupil.

Wir gerieten in ein Mohnfeld Wir gerieten in ein Mohnfeld. Everywhere bricks screamed around. Encase us in the tower of flames With everything that kneels before the gods. Ten naked redskin heathens danced around the edifice and bleated An ape-song to death: You are simply spraying around the dirt from a puddle And are squashing underfoot a mound of worms when You crush us, We are and do not want to be anything more than filth. They have lied to us and deceived us With talk of God, purpose and meaning And gave you as a payment our sins.

For us you are the enticing rainbow Stretched over the peaks of joy. Ich liebe eine Hure, sie heisst To. Ihr Gang sticht durch mein Blut. Sie ist ein Abgrund wilder, dunkler Blumen. Kein Engel ist so rein. Ich liebe eine Hure. I love a whore called To. Yes, as if made from a vessel All through summer. Her step cuts through my blood. She is an abyss of wild, dark flowers. No angel is so pure. I love a whore. Don Juan gesellte sich zu uns Don Juan gesellte sich zu uns: Samen, Schwangerschaft und Durcheinandertreiben.

Feuchtigkeiten ein lauter Rausch. O ja, ein Kind! Moistness, a pure intoxication. Oh yes, a child! But how to get one and not — feel ashamed. I dreamt once that a young birch-tree Had given me a son. A violet song from the heavens Sung to the buds of young roses.

Oh, through the nights there sobs unto the stars My male blood. Vor einem Kornfeld Vor einem Kornfeld sagte einer: Da lobe ich mir den tiefen Alt des Mohns. Da denkt man an Blutfaden und Menstruation. The loyalty and fairy-tale loveliness of the cornflower Is a nice sign for the beauty of womankind.

I prefer the deep alto of the poppy. It reminds me of patches of blood and menstruation. Of hardship, the death-rattle, hunger and extinction — In short: Ewig ruft das Meer. A clot of slime in a warm moor. Life and death, sex and procreation Would slide from our dumb seed. A piece of algae or a dune of sand: Formed by the wind and heavy at its base. Even the head of a dragonfly or the wing of a gull Would be too much, and would suffer too deeply.

II Despicable are the lovers, the mockers, Despair of all longing, and those who hope. We are such sickly corrupted gods. The dark dreams of the woods. The stars, huge as blossoming snowballs and heavy. The panthers spring soundlessly through the trees. Eternally calls the sea —. Get in there, into that stale Thermopylae! Ich bin eine Wasserstunde. Wir wollen helle Haut sein. Meine Vorderflossen sind schon lang und haarig. In der ersten Nacht ist alles entschieden. Du machst mir Liebe: Ich will von dir. Deine Stirn ist fliehend: I am a water-hour.

In the evening my eyelids drowse off towards forest and sky. My love knows few words. It is so beautiful by your blood.

Come into my burrow. Let us be bright flesh. Until the shadows of the cedars rear over the little lizard: Roses bloom in my hair. My front paws are long and hairy. Longing for the boughs of trees. From strong thumbs you can hang down the whole day long. All is decided on the first night. I grip with my teeth the thing that I desire.

Hyenas, tigers, vultures are my emblems. You are now crossing the water. So like a sail yourself. And yet bitter red, the blood inside is dead, The mouth is a crevice full of screams. You, let us not land on a shore! You make love to me like a leech: I want something from you. You have cornstalks on your hat. Your back is brown from your Maccabee blood.

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You hold it like a sea, so that nothing spilt in play Should moisten the earth. Now, look through your eyelids and steel yourself: Vom Rand der Erde komm ich her. Weil meine Mutter weint? Weil meinem Vater das Haar vergreist? Mir aber rauscht die Stirn wie Wolken Flug. The Robbers-Schiller I bring plague. From the edge of the world I come here. At times, there is something that runs together in my mouth: If I were to spit it out, the stars would hiss, And the entire cowardly boozy lot and the blood of Abel would go under. Because my mother cries? You now impotent gorges! Pretty soon a few handfuls of earth Will be fertilising you.

In me, however, the brain rages like a flight of clouds. And that touch of infection that trickled into my blood from the slime of a whore? A crumb of death is forever stinking in the corner — Sod it! Das Affenlied Ihr Spiel Gottes! Von meinem kaum getrennt! Durchrausche mich noch einen Tag! Ape song You jest from God! Heavens are the shadows Of the great forests around your fur. Sleeping, feeding, breeding quietly ripens on the Summer land of your blood. From mine barely different! One and the same. Rage through me again for just one day! There was the sea and there was the earth — See these hours once lived out, Oh, the return of all these longings Assemble around you!

Ich bin so hingesunken An dich. Und bin so trunken Von dir. Die Welt ist tot. Alles klingt In mein Herz. Madonna Do not give me back yet! I have totally expired on you. And am completely intoxicated In you. The world is dead. The heavens sing stretched out against the stream of stars, bright and full. Everything is resounding in my heart. Deeply fulfilled and so beautiful sings the hunting pack of my blood.

Das Fett wird ranzig and hat ausgepaart. O was in Lauben unseres Flesichs geschah! Verwirrt im Haar, in Meer. Over graves This one slaves away and bakes, bent throughout the night With rotten meat, following an old baking method. Finally the pig broke his legs. His fat became rancid and fell away. Aegean are our tides. Oh, look what has happened in the foliage of our flesh!

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Tangled in our hair, in the sea, our breasts bleed in dancing, in the summer, by the strand and Ithaka. Mai ist um die Harfe. Doch deine Hand ist eine Erde: O Sommer dieses Nackens! O Diese jasmindurchseuchte Ellenbeuge! O, ich bin gut zu dir. Ich streichle Dir deine Schultern. In Rosenschwangerhaft Die Ebenen. Felder Sterben den Asphodelentod. Du Kranke, tief im Flor Der dunklen Brauen! Die Geigen schimmern einen Regenbogen.

May surrounds the harp. The palm trees redden. In the desert wind. Rahel, a slim goldwatch at her wrist: Protecting her sex and threatening the mind: She is the enemy! Your hand however is as if from earth: Sweetly-brown, almost eternal, wafted by womb. Friendly Earring turns up. The bright Easter lillies are so lovely: Their wide mouths yellow, with meadows at their feet. Oh summer ripened back! Oh These elbows drenched with jasmine!


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  • Oh I am good to you. I stroke Your shoulders. Pregnant with roses, The plains. Fields Expire into their asphodel death. Lips, bold and deeply filled like chalices, As if blood from its sweet place was hesitating, Roaring through a mouth of early autumn. Oh the sorry brain. You sick thing, deep in the bloom Of your dark brows! The violins are shimmering a rainbow. Der kleine graue Stock in ihrer Hand Friert mit. Will tiefer in die Hand. Du rauschst so an mein Blut.

    Du Ufer mit Libellen! Kein Boot, kein Segel geht. Wer nimmt mich winters auf?! Spa concert Beyond cripples and bathing proletarians, Sunshades, lapdogs and Boa scarves, Beyond the autumn sea and the ditty by Grieg: Whether Iris will come? The small walking stick in her hand Is also freezing. Wants to go deeper into her hand. The bell flowers, enclosed in your scarve, The white cross of your parted hair and teeth Contrasts, when you laugh, so sweetly with your brown skin! You steep, white land! You are the intemperance of my blood. The relaxed expanse of your shoulder blades!

    The delicacy of the skirt around your knee! You river bank with dragonfly! You, from the sides of a bowl ascending In bursts of violets. Surrounded by breasts loudly bloomed! Oh autumn and a return home across this sea! The grey shores lie impotent. No boats, no sails flutter. Who will take me now in winter time?! From so many distances blown together. From so many stars newly-born. Just before this river bank: Untergrundbahn Die weichen Schauer.

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    Der Strumpf am Spann ist da. Doch, wo er endet, ist weit von mir. Ich schluchze auf der Schwelle: Nun lebt es unter ihren Kleidern: Ein armer Hirnhund, schwer mit Gott behangen. Ich bin der Stirn so satt. In the Subway The soft shudder. As if from warm fur, it comes straight from the forest. Through full spring the new female comes. She wears her stockings, stretched.

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    But there, where they come to an end, is beyond my reach. I sob at their edge. Sultry fecundity, alien moistures. Oh, how her mouth devours the tepid air! Life is now beneath her dress: I am a wretched dog-brain, heavy hung with God, sick of the mind. Oh, that a frame of clustered blooms should gently take its place, and swell and stream and shudder.

    I long to wander. Songs from the gardens.

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    Shadows and the Flood. Buchtet sich ein und aus. Wirft sich aus ganz ebenen Stellen auf: And anyway love hit me, the snouts of two whores bulge forward. Ida moulds her curves to the music. Gyrates in and out. Throws herself up from totally level places: I want to lose myself. Give birth to me. Der junge Hebbel Ihr schnitzt und bildet: Ich schlage mit der Stirn am Marmorblock die Form heraus. Ich bin mir noch sehr fern. Aber ich will Ich werden! Wir wohen in einer engen Bucht, ausgebaut an des Dorfes Ende.

    Meine Jugend ist mir wie ein Schorf: Davon bin ich so entstellt. Unerbittlich ist der Kampf und die Welt starrt von Schwertspitzen. Jede hungert nach meinem Herzen. Young Hebbel You chip away and fashion: I beat form out of the marble block with my brow. My hands work for my daily bread.

    I remain to myself still distant, but I will become me! There lies someone deep in my blood who cries for heavens of gods and earths of men, which he has made for himself. My mother is so poor: We live in a narrow sty, built at the bottom of the village. My youth is like a scab to me, with a wound beneath.

    Blood drips everyday from it. That is why I am so disfigured. Sleep I do not need, and food only enough to stay alive. The struggle is relentless, and the world bristles with points of swords, each of which hungers for my heart. Everyone of them I must melt into my blood: Als wir blutfeucht zur Welt kamen, Waren wir mehr als jetzt. Jetzt haben Sorgen und Gebete beschnitten uns und klein gemacht. Aber ich will mein eigenes Blut. Feiger Herr, feiger Herr!

    Ich aber will tanzen durch dich schleierlos dein Blut. A Troop of strident sons did cry A troop of striding sons did cry: Made adroit with weapons, to free ourselves, we have become haters, beyond redemption. When we came into this world blood-stained, we were more than we are now. Now sorrow and praying have cut us down and made us small. We live small lives. We want small things.

    And our feelings, like tame animals, are eating out of the hand of our will. But there are times when desires well up, strong from deep within our blood, their wings like the eagle, as if they wished to broach a flight away from the shadows of the earth. But the mother of cares and prayers, the earth, allied to you, will not let them go from her old and wrinkled body.

    But I will have my own blood. I tolerate no other gods beside me. Covered in purple, my beauty persists day and night for you. Why are you trembling? I trained my tendons to be swift for your desires. O give them to me! Clean out my hall. Yellow salivating skeletons of white-haired and sullen blood threaten me. I, however, will dance. Sie schmerzt nicht immer. Mother I bear you like a wound upon my brow that will not close. The pain sometimes abates, and my heart flows from it still alive. Only now and then I suddenly become blind, and feel blood in my mouth.

    It is so beautiful beside your blood. Ein Mann spricht Ein Mann spricht: Hier ist kein Trost. Sieh, wie das Land auch aus seinen Fiebern erwacht. A man speaks A man speaks: Here there is no consolation. See how the land also awakens from its fever. Almost all the dahlias have stopped gleaming. Everything lies wasted as after a cavalry battle.

    I hear an upsurge in my blood. You, my eyes are already drinking in the blue of distant hills. It is already caressing my temples. Hier ist kein Trost Keiner wird mein Wegrand sein. Mein einer Arm liegt im Feuer. Mein Blut ist Asche. Let your blossoms whither. My path flows and runs alone. Two hands are too small a bowl. One heart is too small a hill to rest on.

    You, my life is lived on the strand and under the falling blossom of the sea. Egypt is spread before my heart, and Asia is dawning. One of my arms lies in the fire. My blood is ash. Leaving breasts and bones behind me, I sob my way towards the Tyrrhenian islands: There glimmers a valley with white poplars, an Ilissus with shores of meadows: Schnellzug Das Gleitende, das in den Fenstern steht! Wir kleine Forst, kein Adler und kein Wild! Die weiten Felder der Verlassneheit! Das Rot der Erbereschen hat schon Blut. O sei bei mir! The Express The passing images that face me in the windows! Past my shoulders crumble the fields, the arbours, and the overgrown villages; long-forgotten mothers; the entire land, a grave full of fathers: That which is festering sounds loudly with its sick voices: Where did we ever come close to happiness?

    We, a small forest, without eagle or game. Paltry blooms blossom in pale tones in our meadows. The heart cries out: You comforting, blossoming hand! The broad fields of abandonment! The red of the rowanberry already is of blood. Oh, be with me! It is so silent in the gardens. But the passing that faces me in the windows. Past my shoulders crumble the fields, fathers and the grief of hills and the happiness of hills —: The sons have grown tall. The sons go naked and in the grief of unleashed blood, their red brows reflect a distant abyss of joy.

    In unserem Blute ist kein Dorn. Oktobertiere rechts und links: Wir makellose, wir letzte Julibrut. Dann kann in einem Park ein Beet: Ich bin ganz unvernichtbar! Ich versenge dem Tode seine kalte Fratze. Wie alles Rote, Glut und Flammenhafte aus meinen Schenkeln hurt! Flowers I-II I In the room of a pastor between crosses and images of Christ, Jerusalem relics and Golgatha wreaths a bouquet of roses blooms blissfully beyond the shores: We may now happily pass away.

    There is no thorn in our blood. October animals to teh right andleft: II A sea, entirely poisened by the grey blood of autumn, has made me sick. Startled, the river bank, devoid of joy and barren of leaf receives my final step as words of commital. Then in a park there was a flower bed: It bloomed over this entire misery, the sea, the clouds and the storm in the garden.

    I am completely indestructible! I burn away the cold countenance of death. As everything red, glowing and flaming rushes from my limbs! Good morning to you! Der Mond fiel hinterher. Gab Stein statt Brot Dem atemlosen Blut. Die Enkelin spielte das alte Spiel: Dann ging etwas Luft durch und sie konnte schlafen. Ein Sarg kriegt Arbeit und ein Bett wird leer. Wie Garben Aus Schnee. O kaum zu denken! Finish I The spittoon — not in the least able to contain such large warm green emissions — finally broke apart. The moon dropped down. Sucked Backed the vomit in gulps. Gave to breathless blood Stone instead of bread.

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    II The little clot smelled like a chicken coup, moved here and there. The grand-daughter palyed the old game: When grandma is asleep: Around her collar bones the cavities were so deep That she could hide beans in them. A ball could even be fitted into her throat, if one blew the dust out of it. III For him it was all about the spittoon with plum stones. Then he crawled in and cracked open the stones. He was thrown back into his box bed. And he burrowed into his straw. Towards evening the head keeper came And rebuked the warden: You bloody lazybones, Why has the box not been cleaned up yet?

    IV For weeks they held the heads of their children, When they had returned from school, high in the air: Then a little breeze went through and she could sleep. Then one bent down once by mistake And his head fell out of his hands. Hung over his shoulders Deep blue. V Requiem A coffin gets work and a bed becomes empty. When one considers it: How white they are! Like sheets Of snow. Oh, border of the great winter land Of comforting snow: Nearness and distance are one and made equal.

    We flakes blow into the field, and then a piece, Then is the final spark of the world exstinguished. Oh, it is almost unthinkable! VI Beyond the Graves This one slaves away and bakes broken throughout the night With rotten meat, following an old baking method. Dem Manne rutscht das Auge hin und her. Ick habe schon gehabt. Ob du noch kommst, Ick kann mir doch mein Brot mit Schinken kofen. Der Mond verirrt sein Gold in diesen Gram. His eyes slide to and fro.

    A little snout daubs a laugh into the air: Will you still come with me, I can still fit a bit of ham on my bread. Semen-ready sits at every table with feathers In her hat and puts out her legs, sucks up her hips Full of semen ever more brazenly to her womb. A song curves a dome into the table Of glass: The moon mixes its gold into this misery. Ich war so sehr allein. Die Lippen weinen mit. Roses of Picardy Tempo 31 2: It Must Be Him Tempo 29 2: Amorosa Tempo 31 2: Massachusetts Tempo 30 2: The Last Waltz Tempo 32 2: Crazy Daisy Tempo 48 2: Oberst Wilhelm Stephan, Musikinspizient der Bundeswehr.

    Peterhoven Printed in Germany Spine: Gitarre - "Amor Flamenco" 2: Tonstudio Bauer, Ludwigsburg; Toningenieur: Carlos Albrecht ; Grafische Gestaltung: Anthony Ventura Je t'aime Nr. Anthony Ventura , Toningenieur: Later pressings have LC Orchester Anthony Ventura 20 Traum-Melodien: Orchester Anthony Ventura Melodien der Welt: Peter Pfander, Cover design: P Made in Germany Spine: Kai Warner Kai Warner bittet zum Tanz! Night Fever Tempo 30 3: It's a Heartache Tempo 30 3: Baker Street Tempo 28 3: The Last Waltz Tempo 30 2: I Wonder Why Tempo 48 3: Runaround Sue Tempo 37 2: Rivers of Babylon Tempo 31 3: Amor, amor Tempo 56 2: Singin' in the Rain Tempo 46 2: Kai Warner ; Toningenieur: La java - La belote A5 L'amour, toujours l'amour: Si vous voulez d' l'amour Liner Notes: Ideal dynamic range plus clarity and brilliance.

    Constant fidelity from outside to inside of record. Zaldivar hijo Edmundo P. Zaldivar , B1 R. Eugen Wendel maestru de sunet, Alex. Pierre Oelhafen, Chailly - Lausanne; Mastering: Tonstudio Max Lussi, Basel; Photos: Catherine et Claude Cellier; Graphique: There are two releases with different label and rear sleeve. Compared to these images this release has a silver Beacon Records label with black lettering. There is no track list on the rear sleeve, advertises covers of Beacon Records and Davis Records releases instead with a Davis Records logo.

    Joe Davis Record Manufacturer W. Various Artists Party Time Nr. A21 Fred Kassen, Piano: Hartmann Goertz; Musikalische Bearbeitung und Gesamtleitung: Various Artists Sieger und Favoriten: Goodyear logo on label. King - What Is Soul 2: Riley - Harper Valley P. Stereo Label A: Box top left uncut. Rear sleeve white printing on black, instead of black printing on white. Youth Choir - O Happy Day 4: Various Artists Es war einmal The title is not on the cover On Cover: The additions of the Cover Design do not repeat anywhere else on this release. The objective of the designer is to help sales.

    He thought with the high number of artists and songs the box set would sell better. However, he should at least give the correct information. The artists are alphabetically listed, easy to count and there are 98 different artists, not Please do not moderate, correct or submit with information taken from the cover.

    Various Artists Top of the Pops: Tony Orlando - Vaya con Dios 3: A5, A9, B2; Made and printed in Great Britain Spine: To Everything There Is a Season 3: Smith - Little Green Apples 2: A2, A3, C2, D2 4 Stereo enhanced: Various Artists Music Power: Texas Tyler - Careless Love 2: A Product of Pickwick International, Inc. Various Artists Memory Lane: Titles are not on album covers, if they would the title should add Original Songs, Original Artists, the superflous 40 Hits, which shows the track list, and maybe Doppel Album.

    Album covers are artwork and marketing. The title is not on the cover. Hit-Raketen '76 Stereo 64 Devotion — Love Me Baby 3: Sound — Disco Bass 3: Adam Backhausen , Coverfotos: Various Artists Margaret Astor Herbstcollection