Marion Benz / Marion Carola Benze
Singer-Songwriter | Producer | Publisher | Author

The codex torture of the soul...

I would like to tell you something, and I don't want to miss the thruth. For it is my desire to sow the seed that's lighting up into deep darkness of the soul, that never hinders the sight. So please never be mad at me,because when I losen fatal tension, I do it in my own way, which doesn't fool spirituality. I also won't betray you – I only hate cowardice and lies. And I, myself, am also not perfect either, when loneliness is far spread, but I do expect the harvest, sometime. That's why please understand, that sincerity puts the great question of courage inside of us. And with it human morality stands an falls. Thats the codex torture of the soul.

The Wake-Up-Time of the Tidal Clock

This letter is supposed to telll you: carry on, don't hesitate. For your desire is such, that you want to live and you didn't mention with a single word, that there was an hour for you, that woke up.

Be wise and listen to this hour, only
and follow the trace of your conciousnss.

Seven long years it was unspeakebal - me, a star and you a music producer.
Also a star in your own right.

You won't part from your last shirt, to live your dream,
but the both of us love the same things, as before.
To respect oneanother was never difficult.
It was lying in our destiny to be uniified
with the hosts of harmony.

To rhyme and to write poetry
Art holds the potions of liife for those, who love the pure -
even if they may be cunning.

And when we leave, we shall know, what we will depart from:
From the mercy of a life, from the ease of weaving,
from spontaneity and calmness....

Even if I don't do anything sometimes, you will think of me, soon.
And you will gain clarity about me.
Because the dreams live on the steps of a ladder to the sky,
which becomes more difficult to climb with time.

But truth enlightens freedom, we produced with,
with wich we call upon the Gods.
An inside the Olymp of eternity there is sometimes
a spare space to be filled..

So read between the lines, only. No-ones mistake is constantly as bad
that you always miss a goal..
Respect the word and then consider, how you choose your harmonies.
And when you count the bars, think of that one hour, just...
The wake-up-time of the Tidal Clock

Playboy of the Nation

You are the playboy of the Nation and I know your songs already.
You strip every woman of the leaves, only to crush her to death, later.

And you merely love yourself, actually...
You don't see the other ones.

You are a Dandy, happily you shine through
the glowing light of every girl,
every woman and satisfy yourself on them.

You don't differentiate in recruting,
hit deep scars into each soul -
and this very individually.

Afterwards you forget rather quickly.
In your mind, you're a single combat fighter...
That's why you need an undertone...

Your laughter is non, it is grinning -
and your hiding in the rushes...
You think, you are really clever,
but, to be true, you're a poor sau.

Trauma

Like feelings that suffocate, when the walls crush them in.
Like the door to hell, like a raft on wild water.
Like a kiss onto gleaming iron, like a hit with a fist of a wise man.

Out of the hollow depth into tight stand,
as if I ran the marathon barefoot on hot desert sand.

Like the white alabaster, like the stars untamed,
I will shine through each grid. And are my wings still lame,
they will ion the break of time premaditate great deeds.

The Mind That Constantly Forgets

In the soulstorm of forgetting oneself,
lie piles of considering what erases worry and pain.
Intolerance and pride don't do anything here,
exept a theft of dreams.

Lethargic the seams are hanging,
torn suffering, at the edge of time,
ready for each vanity.

But if you walk silently through the Zenith of Time,
where God watches you walk through time full of worry and pain,
so courage will furthermore enhance you to love and respect yourself.
And not to look out for your decline.
This way you will understand what other eyes see in you.

The soul is rocking and is so addicted to expensive things
and takes itself important where ever Gold is the matter of ones greed.
It becomes dust then and believes it got the right to be that way.

Because where no water becomes the vine,
is nothing fullof enlightenment, the World fulll of hastyness,
and this rules the word,that belogns to you and that dries up.

You are the mind, that always forgets, a dark light, unified within itself.
The shadows of all cruelties are colours of your darknesses
. So become leightness, the bow, in wich the facettes weigh.

A colourful game made up of senses.
That way you shall regain love, again.
And if that's not in your drive,
you remain the mind, that always forgets.