"Fire" is a song written in the wake of the 2015 Napa Valley wildfires that left many unlucky souls without home and lost for hope that Monday.  

with the ash that falls, what is left?
no sign of home or anything else
upon the soot and the sand and the stone
Lenny sits alone

I tried to save them all
one by one, I watched them fall
yes, I tried to save them all
one by one, I watched them fall

and to his left and to his right
they're coming down on every side
what's man against such fire?
Lenny can't decide

I tried to save them all
but the blaze, it grew too strong
yes, I tried to save them all
in the haze, we lost our home

see the fire, it rips and roars
doesn't care if you're rich or if you're poor
yes the fire, it rips and roars
doesn't care if you're rich or if you're poor

from the ash, a rustling
hello friend, where have you been?
I've returned this day to you
I am flowers and trees anew
I'm the soul of embers fresh
I am that which grows from death
I am everything you had, Lenny
don't be sad

you tried to save them all
just a man, the flames so tall
yes, you tried to save them all
just a man, you're just a man, Lenny

I tried to save them all
but the fire, I felt so small
yes, I tried to save them all
one by one, I watched them fall...

written by Gillian Grogan (copyright Gillian Grogan 2015)

Fire // LIVE @ Atwood's

"Early Sunday Morning" is a song about taking walks and finding Home.

head out early sunday morning
struggling to find home
it ain't easy to feel purpose
but the body moves along

no you war'nt supposed to leave here
nor war you supposed to roam
what I war'nt supposed to say, dear
don't leave this girl out on her own

in a time when nothing is sure, 
but surely time will change your mind
isn't there someone who feels like home
so we don't feel so left behind?

grasses brushing at my knees
it's been a while since somebody walked like this
thorns catching on long sleeves
remind me just whose house this is

under amber waves of leaves
under the choruses of old oak trees
if the early morning frees
and levies this girl onto her knees

in a time when nothing is sure
but surely time will change your mind
isn't there someone who feels like home
so we don't feel so left behind?

head out early sunday morning
struggle to find home
it ain't hiding in the window
not 'til you're knocking at my door

written by Gillian Grogan (copyright Gillian Grogan 2015)


Early Sunday Morning // LIVE @ Atwood's

Live @ Atwood's Tavern 11/11/15

the clock hand fell to six and never left
the sun sat high and slightly to the left
he ran round in circles
she danced through the ripples
and they tried, tried to start that clock

the time was lost, the kids, they never slept
they broke the laws and bounced from bed to bed
and even though it's nothing
it seemed as though it's something
yes, they tried, tried to start that clock
through the night, they did never stop

oh yes they tried, tried to start that clock
through the night, they did never stop
and in the dark, there were questions of
what it meant, meant to be in love

from dusk to dawn, they lived in lightless sin
dressed in their drawers, they left behind where they'd been
and all night long, they whistled to the moon
a question for the sun and sky so blue
and he got down on one knee
but she kicked out his footing
oh yes they tried, tried to start that clock
through the night, they did never stop
and in the dark, there were questions of
what it meant, meant to be in love

The Clock

copyright Honeyfoot 2016

Lyrics:

softly spoken, underneath 
subtle language 
subtlety 
colors on the breeze, just colors on the breeze 
and of all of the bones in all of the seas 

painted fingers, painted keys 
paint memories haunting 
of all of the men 
of all of the foreign 
she picked the one person 

comes the rising 
comes the time 
from the knees 
the slaves to the weary spine 
what nonsense is coming? it don’t feel so hot 
of all of the answers 
no question’s for naught? 

under the threat of sacred pace 
of feelings that haven’t greatly changed 
of doing something new 
not new in the sense that it’s never been seen or done 
just new in the sense that it’s 
fresh to one’s core 
maybe only ever softly spoken before 
it’s just new 
it’s new 
it’s new 
it’s new 
but it’s not new 
it’s a bore 
tedious 
nothing more than recurring 
the tide’s always returning 
the same old tracks idly blurring 

tips grow green 
veins won’t bleed 
trunks may brown 
skin may fade 
unhidden constants yearn to shake, rock ‘n roll, remain and change 
shake :: rock ‘n roll :: remain :: change 
and of all of the dancers, 
whose story will play?

The Rising

hahahahaha trance. lul <3

bobblehead
biblehead
banjohead

BOBBLE HEAD // Honeyfoot Doodle Sessions

HONEYFOOT [huhn-ee foo t]
noun, plural honeyfeet for 1-4, 8-11, 16, 19, 21; honeyfoots for 20

(1.) where Americana meets Folk and thrives in Soul
(2.) a jolly good time