Sudlohn, oh man, it's a weird slice, alright.

Main streets, kinda crammed, meet in a haze.

Hauptstraße buzzes at dawn.

I stroll there, massage parlour biz on my mind.

Bahnhofstraße? Ha, a constant rat race.

I know every shady corner here.
I spy a park—Stadtpark, kinda small.

Kids play, old timers grumble.

"Everybody lies." Yea, even nature here.

Old lamp posts shadow the alleys.
Then there's Kölner Weg.

Crazy characters, like scenes from Mulholland Drive.

"That secret's out there."

I swear some nights, the streets whisper.

A river? The small Weda flows by.

Its slow drift reminds me "the answer's not here."
I've seen things when fingers knead backs.

Massage tell me secrets not seen by docs.

Eyes reveal the city's moods.

People hold secrets in each nod.

St. Viktor's Church is rusty yet grand.

The building's wrecked, mysterious vibe.
I love that Attic Bar—a dive that surprises.

Cheap drinks, big lies, dark corners.

The locals gossip nonstop.

I get mad. They always lie.

I might run a massage flat on Windmill Str.

Wait, what a lie – it's all a blur.
I cut short thoughts, like rush jobs.

Every breath hits like Lynch's flashbacks.

Mulholland Drive speaks in riddles, man.

"Fame is fleeting." so freakin' true.
Sometimes, I just laugh.

The city, odd and genuine.

Erratic, raw, full of edge.

Spotted spots? I've got fav hangouts galore.

One back alley near Pfarrgasse - amazing drama.
Streets feel alive, twisting in irony.

I feel every fib, every beat.

The vibe annoys and enchants.

Suddlohn's no neat postcard.

It's messed up brilliance.
Man, I gotta go now.

Every day's a new script here.

Sooo unpredictable, like a bad binge.

"Everything is not as it seems."

Truly, as Lynch says - "Silence is golden."