Olmar – Songtexte & Lyrics

The old bridge

Lyrics by Maren Beljan

The old bridge,
her soul sleeps down in the pillar
Her morning is still far
Today she is peopled with worthis and workers
Some of them are almost running
Some of them are walking as if on a cat walk

But an old legend has it: Dance while you cross her otherwise you’ll become petrified

The old bridge,
she lost her ornamantation many years ago
Still she waits for the return
The river underneath her changed the color over the years from red to black
And finaly fish leap again

And an old legend has it:
Dance while you cross her otherwise you’ll become petrified


A woman

Poem by Maren Beljan

playing your part eagerly
looking around just shortly
controlling the scenery

always doing what you want
never asking what you need

disappointed of never being enough
a wail arises

but not knowing to whom


In a silent house

Poem by Maren Beljan

A bricked up window in a silent house
Sometimes I hear the neighbours moan
Flowers in plastic pots
Maybe they´re decorating grave


Black and purple Lily

Lyrics by Maren Beljan

Black and purple Lily, your blossom is like an open door to a hidden place where we can be in love
When I look inside of you, I can see that we are already in peace
Your mysterious scent is like a sweet promise to me

Black and purple Lily, your blossom is telling me about our bitter sweet love
When I look inside of you, I see all the joy and the pain we had
Your scent is telling me about all the faces of our love

Black and purple Lily, deep in your blossom you´re hiding a great treasure for me
When I look inside of you, I understand what I miss is already deep in my heart
Your scent is telling me about the abundance of love


A day as you love it

Lyrics by Maren Beljan

Far away from you
I sit and dream in the warm sun
And I see your smile
With a golden glimmer in your eyes

And I dream myself to you

Until the black bird´s song wakes me up

And there is the play
Of the wind and the sun
In the leaves of the trees

I dream myself to you...

Until the black bird´s song wakes me up...

Clouds are drifting in the sky
On this day, that is kissed from a blaze of light
And I know it is a day as you love it

I dream myself to you

Until the black bird´s song wakes me up

Until the black birds song brings me back to here


In a boat with you

Poem by Tagore, Gitanjali, No 42

Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat,
only thou and I,
and never a soul in the world would know of this our pilgrimage to no country and to no end.

In that shoreless ocean, at thy silently listening smile- my songs would swell in melodies,
free as waves, free from all bondage of words.

Is the time not come yet? Are there works still to do?
Lo, the evening has come - down upon the shore
and in the fading light the seabirds come
flying to their nests.

Who knows when the chains will be off, and the boat, like the last glimmer of sunset, vanish into the night.



Poem by Oscar Wilde

I have no store
Of gryphon-guarded gold;
Now, as before,
Bare is the shepherd's fold.
Rubies nor pearls
Have I to gem thy throat;
Yet woodland girls
Have loved the shepherd's note.

Then pluck a reed
And bid me sing to thee,
For I would feed
Thine ears with melody,
Who art more fair
Than fairest fleur-de-lys,
More sweet and rare
Than sweetest ambergris.

What dost thou fear?
Young Hyacinth is slain,
Pan is not here,
And will not come again.
No horned Faun
Treads down the yellow leas,
No God at dawn
Steals through the olive trees.

Hylas is dead,
Nor will he e'er divine
Those little red Rose-petalled lips of thine.


My empty bench

Poem by Maren Beljan

In the backyard my empty bench
At your place a puddle
In the water the clouds of the day
From far a flower gleam
The shimmer of this day


The raven

Lyrics by Jens Beljan

Listen my dear I have to go away.
Don´t ask why´. I just stop this fruitless pray.
For so long I grabbed my hands in this earth.
Where worms say it will go from bad to worse.

Look over there to the raven in the tree
Every night he conjures me in my dream
Let me go, dont try to stop my running
Can´t you hear the train is allready comming

Every dawn I dream myself far away
And every dusk I realize, something holds me here to stay

If I could I would set house and yard on fire
So there is nothing left, from which I´m the heir
And if they come and give me all the blame
Just tell them she´s gone forever with the flames

Every dawn I dream myself far away
And every dusk I realize, something holds me here to stay

What are this chains of, why don´t they want to burst
For all the dusk that treats me like a curse
I can not go, what ever I will do
Cause in the end I stay because of you

Every dawn I dream myself far away
And every dusk I realize, something holds me here to stay


Holy thursday

Poem by William Blake

Is this a holy thing to see,
In a rich and fruitful land
Babes reduced to misery,
Fed with cold and usurous hand?

Is that trembling cry a song? Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor? It is a land of poverty!

And their sun does never shine.
And their fields are bleak & bare.
And their ways are fill'd with thorns.
It is eternal winter there.

For where-e'er the sun does shine,
And where-e'er the rain does fall:
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appal


The wild flower’s song

Poem by William Blake

As I wander’d the forest,
The green leaves among,
I heard a wild flower
Singing a song.

I slept in the dark
In the silent night,
I murmur’d my fears
And I felt delight.

In the morning I went
As rosy as morn,
To seek for new joy;
But O! met with scorn.


East and west

Poem by Thich Nhat Hanh

Swiftly past the the front gate
the river flows.
Like Childhood memories,
clouds float,
In the backyard, mustard flowers are ablaze
where the lost butterflies hover.

Within his arms a firmament
beneath the warm sun, his and mine.
Grapefruit blossoms in my hair
are no strange fragrance for him.

My small hands night and day,
trace the soul of the calligrapher
who rest his pen to teach the child-
ancestral rivers and mountains
on my shoulders.
Two cultures, East and West,
bend the carrying pole down.
A rooster crows,
and over pillows the heart wispers,
"Is it dawn yet, over there?"

All winter long, the red fire smolders and our faith is warmed.
He sings poems, and his voice rings clear in the snowy sky.
To keep alive the future, he eats meals of pickles and rice.
When Spring returns to the hills, the sky is blue as eyes are blue,
and far away flame tree blossoms burst forth.
Half a world of Love has opened halfway.