Firefly Grove

I stumbled upon a blog post by Tim Boucher with this title, and instantly knew I had to write a song to explore the topic. Here it is.

Lyrics:

Her hard work behind her, she needs no reminder
Kicks back on the porch, with her hears open wide
Spirits in chorus, who’ve passed on before us
To their voices she listens, full moon hanging high

Ancestor radio, play that sweet music, oh
Melodies heavenly, rhythms sublime
She tunes her receiver, she is a believer
For the broadcasted signal has dropped her a line

Ancestor radio, sing me a song
Through wastelands of static, your signal is strong
Ancestor radio, don’t pass me by
Your current it flows, may it never run dry

Antennas all over, smoked leaf of a clover
The whisper of wind, or the bark of a tree
Stones on the mantle, for instance example
There pictured in frame, old eyes looking at me

Ancestor radio, help me to find
The frequency needed, to make your song shine
Ancestor radio, come back my way
I’ll suffer the white noise until that fine day

Cool breeze on a hill top, night sky as a backdrop
Firefly glow, in the darkness between
Spirit guitar strumming, can’t help but start humming
Tune in for yourself, and you’ll hear what I mean

To listen, click the play button above. To download, right-click this link and select the save option

* * *

Lyrics:

birdsong, early morning rise
one by one, they heed the calling
round the bend and up the hill they climb
shadowed trees, graveled footsteps

through the doors, they each make their own way
no two of them the same, their seats a’taken
a coffeeshop by name, but so much more
for the treasures kept in store, leave pillars shaken

Oh, just to see your face, so inviting
Under warmth of your quilt
In the end, there’ll be peace the same
For tomorrow… a return to that cafe on the hill

* * *

firedance, full moon in the sky
round and round, all drums a’blazing
while under roof, not an empty seat it sight
smores a’flame, red wine a’flowing

each conversation, a treasure to behold
while adventures do unfold, from green to red room
dim corridor with hands traced on the wall
for each who walks these halls, they leaves their mark now

Into the night, the music leads the way
the mic is open, but soon closed be it will
For the end, always comes too soon
‘twould be no different, so it goes for that cafe on the hill

* * *

winter chill, stillness in the air
seasons pass, hanging over
grey sky, dashed hopes from here to there
scattered wide, let down and dazing

Each one of them, they search amidst the blue
For the comfort they once knew, but find no shelter
When tomorrow comes, I’ll seek on just the same
Did I really know your name? I sit and wonder

So, it must be sometimes, treasured echoes
Rendered hollow, and so shrill
Even still, does the hope remain, for the promise
Open doors at that cafe on the hill

Walking through the forest, he was care free and without worry
He found a stone, tossed it up and down through the air
When suddenly his eyes, they’re drawn up and there before him
The mighty stump of a tree, fresh cut and sad, laying bare

He slowly drew near, the toss taken out of his pebble
A sorrow within swells forth, upon his eyes the rings
Of the tree that once was, so in its center he lays down the stone
And whips round his guitar, takes a deep breath, and starts to sing

A song for the fallen tree… a song for the live ones
A song for our faded dreams… so new ones may rise again

When his song had all finished, he sat there for a moment, breathing deeply
And there upon the stump, the stone he had left it did glow
The spirit of the tree, roused and livened, it had been released now
Set inside the stone, which he gathered up and went on his go

All of the children of the village, they’re all taught the same now
Each with an instrument, set forth into the wild to play
Each goes their own way, toward a tree thats in need of their song now
And let their newly hatched music take flight into the light of day

And from all sides, sweet songs flood back into the village
Melodies joining as one in the center of town
And in the circle garden, behold a new sprout has taken root now
Its secret to be heard, by all those with their ears to the ground

Sing for the fallen trees, sing for the lives one
A song for our faded dreams, so a new one may rise again