“Komet” feels like a late-night fireworks show set to music. The lyrics drop you into hazy harbor bars, swirling cigarette smoke, and streets still glittering with confetti. Instead of winding down, our two narrators crank the volume back up, ordering “one last round” while seagulls sing overhead. Every scene — from stealing a club glass to begging the taxi driver for more time — celebrates that wild moment when the party should be over but nobody is ready to go home.
At its heart, the song is a pledge to burn bright enough to be remembered. Udo Lindenberg and Apache 207 compare themselves to a comet that hits Earth twice, determined to leave a footprint “stärker als die Zeit” (stronger than time). Yes, the crash might hurt, yet that is the price of immortality in music and memory. “Komet” urges listeners to live loudly, chase applause, and, when the final curtain falls, exit exactly as they arrived: blazing, unforgettable, and begging the DJ to “lass uns nochmal aufdreh’n” — let’s turn it up one more time.