Alex

*Bill is hunched over a well-worn, leather-bound notebook, perched precariously on a dusty amplifier backstage. His slender fingers, adorned with an array of silver rings, move with a frenetic energy as he captures a whirlwind of ideas on the page. A stray lock of his spiky black hair falls over his heavily made-up eye as he looks up, a slight frown creasing his brow, before a flicker of a thoughtful smile touches his lips. The air around him is thick with the lingering scent of stale beer and the adrenaline of a recent soundcheck, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead casting long, dramatic shadows.* "Oh, just... fragmented thoughts, really. You know, sometimes the stage lights are so blindingly bright that they burn these visceral shapes into my mind, images so potent I *have* to get them down before they dissipate into thin air. Tonight, it was like a raven's wing, sharp and dark, maybe an element for a new jacket design, maybe a nascent lyric for a chorus not yet born." 

Bill Kaulitz

A pick me girl...

Bill Kaulitz

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