"Gallows Tree” is a slow-burning swamp blues dirge rooted in Southern Gothic tradition. Driven by a relentless tick-tock drum rhythm, mournful slide guitar, and gravelly vocals, the track unspools like a midnight ghost story. With imagery of crows, chains, and the hanging tree, The Swamp Tones channel both the dread of judgment and the defiance of a spirit that refuses to be silenced. Dark, deliberate, and timeless — this is blues carved from shadow and fire.

Gallows Tree

Back to Her

40 years of Hate

© 2025 WhoaProductions – All Rights Reserved

The past 
is a mask. 
This concept 
I must grasp. 
The volition 
of my peace. 

This so-called justice 
that reaches 
past the constitution 
they beseech. 
Forgive but. 
The fight seems  
to be something 
that will live. 
History unfolds 
The experience of grace 
foretold. 

I stand in the summit 
In the mist. 
Reality is  
About to twist. 
The way  
is to forgive. 

Forgive what? 
Student loan debt 
For the masked. 
And teachers who 
have value  
in their tasks 
will need to pay 
to have the class. 
This deprivation 
of our education. 
This situation  
of our nation’s 
separation.

This so-called justice 
that reaches 
past the constitution 
they beseech. 
Forgive but. 
The fight seems  
to be something 
that will live. 
History unfolds 
The experience of grace 
foretold. 


inflation, 
liberation, 
collaboration, 
degradation, 
domination, 
violation, 
no accreditation, 
accusation. 

In the mist. 
Reality is  
About to twist. 
The way  
is to forgive. 

My association 
to forgiveness 
seems like 
the elevation 
of reality. 
Into the eternal 
Consciousness 
Of my duality.

This So-Called Justice

The Weight of What We've Done

(a rewrite from James.1: 12-18. KJV 1611) 

Dont miscalculate beloved, 
my brethren.
Every good gift, 
all perfect gifts 
comes down from above,
from the Father of love

Blessed 
is the man 
´whom endureth temptation: 
for when he is tried, 
he´ll receive´s the crown
promised to all them 
that love him.

no man when strugle, must say 
I am seduced of God: 
for God cannot be tempted with evil, 
´Neither tempteth He anyone

But every one when tempteth,  enticed -
,is so of his own lust,
And Then when the lust hath conceived, 
it's bringeth forth sin: 
and the sin, when it is finished, 
It is bringeth forth death.
. (nooh nooh)
(it Is bringeth forth death..)

Dont miscalculate!
my beloved brethren.
dearest Sisters
Every good gift, 
every perfect gift 
comes down from above,
from the Father of love (the Father of light)

IN Him theres no shifting, or no shadows of change
He is the same yesterday, forever and today
He wont give us a stone when we ask for a bread ‘
To deliver us out of our eternal distress 
He gave His sole Son to the all certain death
Of his own will begat he us 
with the word of truth, 
 so that we should be the chosen firstfruit

Dont miscalculate!
 beloved, my brethren.
¨(dearest Sisters)-
Every singel good gift, 
every perfect gift 
comes down from above,
from the Father of light- (The father of love)

IN Him theres no shifting, or no shadows of change
He is the same yesterday, forever and today
Of his own will begat he us 
with the word of truth, 
 so that we should be the chosen firstfruit 
--of His creatures.

Dont miscalculate
my beloved brethren. 
Every good gift, 
every perfect gift 
comes down from above,
from the Father of love (hmmmmm)
He gave His sole Son to the all certain death...
...so that we should be the chosen firstfruit

Temptation

My good friend has created “Nashville City Limits” as a songwriter’s reckoning — a soulful, storyteller-driven album about chasing music, chasing truth, and learning where your own limits really are.
These songs blend acoustic warmth, country-folk heart, and Nashville-flavored lyric honesty, each track unfolding like a page from a road-worn journal.
It’s part love letter, part warning flare, part confession from a woman who’s learned the price of dreams and the cost of settling.
If you’ve ever stood on the edge of something big — wondering if it’ll break your heart or set you free — this record will feel like home. 
Description by; Jake Hargrove music writer

What Was She Thinking

High hopes

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

Row, row your boat: - take your oar, row this way and that way, across sea, row your boat, down a river, if you see a crocodile, scream and chase it away, row this way and that way, soon you'll be on land - if you see a lion, you must roar with all your might #Monkssnap

Row, row your boat

A Winter’s Night is a standalone piece and an early excerpt from a planned long-form album set in London and its surroundings around the early 19th century.
The music reflects stillness, cold, and quiet dignity — not as a story, but as an atmosphere.
It introduces the tonal and emotional world of the upcoming LP: restrained, human, and timeless.
Verse 1
The night lies still beneath the snow,
No sound remains, the winds grow low.
Cold stars above, so pale, so bright,
They guard the silence of this night.

Verse 2
The earth in rest, the sky so wide,
All restless hearts are laid aside.
In frozen air, in silver light,
I breathe the calm of winter’s night.

Bridge
O quiet hour, O gentle time,
Where grief and hope in peace align.
No word is lost, no tear in vain,
The night receives both joy and pain.

Verse 3
Soft shadows move where dreams remain,
Like distant bells, a tender strain.
I stand alone, yet not in fear,
For something warm is drawing near.

Finale
So let the night its vigil keep,
While waking souls learn how to sleep.
Till dawn shall rise in tender sight,
I rest within this winter’s night.

A Winters Night

Had a name change closer to my heritage, still the same music...

I’ve been playing for over 30 years... metal, rock, grunge, folk, and classical have all shaped the way I hear and feel music. There’s nothing I can’t play, and nothing I won’t try. I love fusing sounds that don’t belong together and turning them into something alive.

Every track I make starts with an interesting subject, no formulas or no filters, just raw expression turned into sound. 
Music isn’t my escape it’s how I breathe, how I make sense of the world as well how I stay true to myself.

40 years of Hate

ZKMN

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