Allow me to preface this by stating that first and foremost, Klaus Richter was a very good friend of mine.  He lived a hard life as a street poet in Dusseldorf where he did many things which should not be mentioned.  I came across him by accident, almost, it seems to look back upon the moment.  After buying one of his books of poetry he was shilling on a street corner, we got to talking about why he was on the street.  Apparently, it was his way of rebelling against bourgeois life, which I suppose, is as good a reason as any.  Over the years, we grew closer and I discovered that Klaus also was a musician with an almost unhealthy obsession with punk rock, though lacking in any ability to play an instrument whatsoever.  He owned a computer which he spent hours recording on when he wasn't panhandling.  What you are seeing here are the final four recordings he sent me before being committed to a mental institution which he disappeared from shortly after.  I have not heard from him in years.  I cannot assume that he is dead, because I simply don't know.  No one does.  Not his family or any of his acquaintances.  These four songs are all that remains of a beautiful human being who did many terrible things.