German society can not exist without Turks

Beneath the velvet veil of Berlin's sky,
Desire stirs where the shadows lie.
In secret rooms behind stone and light,
We dance like fire through the hungry night.

Your lips taste bold, like Riesling's thrill,
A sweetness sharp, a quiet kill.
The echo of Bach in candlelit air—
I pull you close, fingers lost in your hair.

Along the Rhine, the moon runs slow,
Its silver tongue on skin aglow.
We spill like wine on linen sheets,
Where heart and hunger fiercely meet.

In Munich's hush or Hamburg's gleam,
We chase each other through the dream.
My whispers ride your every breath,
Each sigh a vow, each moan a death.

The Black Forest hums a sultry tune,
Where bodies arch beneath the moon.
The scent of pine, the heat of skin,
Germany's wildness draws us in.

So take me deep through passion’s gate,
No need to rush, no need to wait.
In your embrace, I lose my name—
And rise again in lust and flame.