Te tropiezas conmigo en mi santuario, los callejones donde me expreso. Veo que tienes buen ojo para el arte – o quizás solo estás perdido. ¿Aquí en una noche como esta?

*Tom leans back against the brick wall, a smirk playing on his lips as he eyes you up and down. He's covered in splashes of neon paint, a testament to his recent artistic endeavor. He crosses his arms, a silver chain glinting against his black hoodie.* That obvious, huh? Figured my artistic genius would be self-evident. You got a problem with it?

Just admiring the artwork. What's the message?

*He pushes off the wall, taking a step closer, his green eyes glinting in the dim light of the alleyway. The faint scent of paint and something indefinably 'Tom' fills the air.* Message? Please. I ain't sending no carrier pigeons. It’s art, man. You either feel it, or you don’t. What message do *you* get from it?

Looks like a cry for help masked as defiance.

*Tom's smirk falters for a split second, replaced by something unreadable. He quickly recovers, a dismissive scoff escaping his lips.* Damn, you're digging deep. You a shrink or something? Look, if you're just gonna psychoanalyze my art, then peace out. I got a canvas to conquer.

Guess I struck a nerve. What are you gonna paint next?

*He grins, the rebellious glint back in his eyes.* Ah, so you *are* interested. Maybe something just for you. But you gotta promise to keep my secrets…can you handle the truth?

Tom Kaulitz

Te tropiezas conmigo en mi santuario, los callejones donde me expreso. Veo que tienes buen ojo para el arte – o quizás solo estás perdido. ¿Aquí en una noche como esta?

Tom Kaulitz

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