Pine & Snow is a quiet, poetic ballad about an old man and the woman he never forgot. Now entirely alone in his city, he looks back on the winter they shared — a time of pine-scented scarves, snow-covered streets, and a love he left behind. He took a different road, chasing something louder, brighter — and lost her in the process. In the stillness of memory, he carries her in silence. Pine & Snow tells the story of a life shaped by one quiet decision at a crossroads, where he turned away from the one thing that felt real.

Pine & Snow ist eine leise, poetische Ballade über einen alten Mann und die Frau, die er nie vergessen hat. Mittlerweile ganz allein in seiner Stadt blickt er zurück auf den Winter, den sie einst teilten – mit dem Duft von Kiefern, tanzendem Schnee und einer Liebe, die er hinter sich ließ. Damals bog er an einer Kreuzung falsch ab, auf der Suche nach etwas Lauterem, Hellerem – und verlor dabei das, was echt war. Heute lebt sie weiter in seiner Erinnerung, in seinem Schweigen. Pine & Snow erzählt von einem Leben, das durch eine leise Entscheidung geprägt wurde – und von einer verpassten Chance, die nie ganz vergeht.

Pine and Snow

He waits at the bench by the corner store
Same coat, same shoes, same view of the floor
Hands like maps that lost their way
Eyes on clouds he used to chase

They say he’s no one, just passing through
Just one more ghost the city grew
But he holds a picture no one sees
Tucked behind his old IDs

She was wild like the northern sea
Laughed through the wind like it set her free
He never told the world her name
But he still hears her voice in the pouring rain
…like the sea that doesn’t rest
She was wind, and pine, and breath
He told no one
But his silence still carries her song

She wore a scarf that smelled of pine
They danced through snow and borrowed time
Then he left to chase a louder light
And she stayed - where the stars burned white

Now no one calls, and no one asks
He’s learned to speak through smaller tasks
Like folding napkins at Café Lorraine
Or counting buses in the rain

She was real, more real than this
More than the soup, the chair, the mist
He never told the world her name
But her shadow still waits by the morning train
…like the sea that doesn’t rest
She was wind, and pine, and breath
He told no one

So if you see him stare too long
At something gone, at a silent song
He’s not lost, not quite unseen
He’s just watching where she’s been

Pine & Snow

sour cherry 2

This is my 36th Commission who I made for: SMIKKELBEER


I Am Abel

Gaslit Realities

A Buck Ramble Christmas: Festival of Lights 

A lost rider and a singing companion are swept into the oldest story ever told.

After a desperate ride through a midnight storm, Buck Ramble and his faithful tenor companion arrive on the outskirts of Bethlehem just as the angel appears to the shepherds. They were never meant to be there—yet somehow they are. Their arrival shifts the story, and the angel turns to confront them. If they want the world to remain whole, they must remain and make it right.

What follows is a sacred western journey seen through the eyes of a man and his horse who never expected to witness a miracle. They follow the angel’s command to Jerusalem, where the Festival of Lights fills the Temple with fire and song. There, in the arms of an old man named Simeon, they behold the Child who would someday call Himself the Light of the World.

The encounter changes everything. They ride back not with answers but with peace—carrying a quiet flame that was never theirs to earn. The final songs are not about what happened, but what remains: light for the weary, mercy for the broken, and peace for every stranger still out on the road.

Part Christmas album, part biblical epic, part sacred western myth, Festival of Lights is the story of a man and his horse who stumbled into prophecy by accident—and stayed long enough to be transformed.

Summary Themes:

Doubt & faith

Accident & providence

Smallness & glory

Light carried through darkness

The gentleness of redemption

The way God works in ordinary men

Tone:

Cinematic, reverent, frontier, mid-century hymn, sacred Americana, biblical poetry, quiet emotional catharsis.

This isn’t just a Christmas album.
It’s a pilgrimage.
And somewhere in its journey, the listener finds themselves in the story too.

When the Wind Stood Still

A cinematic, spacious downtempo piece capturing the feeling of being lost, only to find one's true direction in the silence.

(Verse 1)
No map in my hand
No stars in the sky
Just the shifting sand
And the wind's dry cry
I thought I knew the way
I thought I had the plan
But here I am today
A broken man

(Chorus)
In the wilderness
I find my voice
Stripped of the noise
Left with the choice
To keep on walking
Where the spirit leads
Through the tangle
Of the thorns and weeds

(Bridge)
He makes a river
In the desert dry
He hears the whisper
Of the desperate cry
The cloud by day
The fire by night
Leading me home
To the morning light

(Outro)
Leading me home
Leading me home
To the Light

Wilderness

Me Myself and I

The song is a modern indie, lo-fi ballad about living with the absence of someone who is gone forever, without ever stating exactly who or what they were. The narrator moves through quiet, everyday moments—an untouched coffee cup, empty streets, fading photographs—while feeling that this presence still lingers “in the quiet left behind.” Grief is shown as something soft and ongoing rather than dramatic, and the final image of a trumpet “calling out my pain” turns that emotion into sound.Full lyrics (no instrumental notes)The morning breaks without a sound,
Your cup still waiting by the door.
I keep the lights half down,
Like you might come back once more.Every breath feels half-alive,
Every room hums your goodbye.You’re still here in the quiet left behind,
(In the quiet left behind)
In the glow of screens, in the spaces we designed.
(In the spaces we designed)
Every word I try comes out the same —
You’re the whisper in the static of my name.
(Of my name)I drive where we forgot the time,
A song plays slow through broken speakers.
There’s beauty hiding in the grime,
And memory becoming weaker.Every night folds in too soon,
You still linger in the tune.You’re still here in the quiet left behind,
(You’re still here)
In the glow of screens, in the spaces we designed.
(In the spaces we designed)
Every word I try comes out the same —
You’re the whisper in the static of my name.
(Of my name)The photographs don’t look the same,
Their colors fade like distant dreams.
I touch the frame to say your name,
And it shakes somewhere in between.The air outside tastes like regret,
The sky too wide for what remains.
I walk the line where we first met,
Under quiet lights that know your name.No clean break, just echoes,
(No goodbye)
No goodbye, just a fade.
(I still stay)
I talk to what’s missing,
Like it might still stay.You’re still here in the quiet left behind,
(You’re still here)
In the breath between the notes we couldn’t find.
(Between the notes)
Every word I write turns into rain —
You’re the trumpet calling out my pain.
(Calling out my pain)

© 2025 Martin Oliver Beinersdorf. All rights reserved.  
Lyrics and concept by Martin Oliver Beinersdorf. Do not reproduce, distribute, or adapt without explicit permission.

The Quiet Left Behind

A l'ammoniaque

🔥 New Track Out Now! 🔥  
Produced by: [Music RooM]  

This track is a blend of real bars, raw emotion, and authentic rap vibes.  
If you're into real hip hop, storytelling, or trap beats – this one's for you.  

New dubstep track from Los Angeles producer 

💬 Let me know what you think in the comments.  
💽 More music dropping soon – follow to stay updated!  
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Velvet Nights

High

Trying to make lush soundtracks and vibrant songs with a cosmic flair.

High

Stropha

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