Carroll Street Cafe: The Cabbagetown Table

Lyrics

Sun hits the brick on Carroll Street.
That smell of coffee, dark and sweet.
Yeah, the door's open.

Find a spot out on the patio.
Scrape of a wrought-iron chair, moving slow.
Been coming here since ninety-three, or so they say.
Watched the whole neighborhood start its day.
Hear the news, the gossip, the quiet plans.
All held right here in calloused hands.

This is the table, this is the chair.
This is the story hanging in the air.
From the old mill hands to the brand new faces.
Carroll Street Cafe, holding all our places.
Yeah, our Cabbagetown table.

Lean on that worn-out wooden bar.
Doesn't matter who you are.
Talk about the tornado back in '08.
The way the wind sealed everybody's fate.
Talk about the mural down in the Krog.
Or just the weather, clearing out the fog.

This is the table, this is the chair.
This is the story hanging in the air.
From the old mill hands to the brand new faces.
Carroll Street Cafe, holding all our places.
Yeah, our Cabbagetown table.

Some places just become the heart.
A place to finish, a place to start.
From the morning eggs to the evening beer.
Thirty years of "glad you're here."
It saw the looms go quiet, saw the lofts rise high.
Just kept pouring coffee under that same sky.

This is the table, this is the chair.
This is the story hanging in the air.
From the old mill hands to the brand new faces.
Carroll Street Cafe, holding all our places.
Yeah, our Cabbagetown table.

Clink of a cup on a saucer.
A quiet promise... "See you tomorrow."
Yeah, see you tomorrow.
At 208 Carroll.