The Next Chapter: Old Roots, New Growth

Lyrics

There's a new sound this morning.
Under the train whistle.
A hum, and a metallic sigh.
I walk past the porch swings on Candler Street.
They keep their own slow time.
Still rocking to a rhythm of homes, and schools, and Sunday bells.
The old brick on the Square breathes out the night's cool rain.
Smells like a story I've always known.
A familiar page, worn soft at the edges.
But look up, past the gables.
A yellow crane arm cuts the sky.
There's a scent on the breeze, sharper than the rain.
It’s the red clay, turned over.
The earth's own secret, exposed to the sun.
A foundation being poured where the grass was yesterday.
And the ink is still wet on this new chapter.
We stand on the ridge, the line in the dust.
One drop of rain finds the Gulf, another finds the sea.
And we are deciding, with every brick and every voice,
Which way this story will flow.
Old roots, new growth.
I see the notices tacked to the board at Java Monkey.
I hear the echoes from City Hall.
Passionate whispers and maps spread on tables.
This line is too close. That shadow is too long.
We are all architects now,
Arguing over the blueprint of tomorrow.
We argued once before, you know.
Drew a line against the interstate.
Said 'our town is not a shortcut, not a road to somewhere else.'
This has always been our work.
To hold the pen, to feel the weight of the next word.
To choose it carefully.
Because the ink is still wet on this new chapter.
We stand on the ridge, the line in the dust.
One drop of rain finds the Gulf, another finds the sea.
And we are deciding, with every brick and every voice,
Which way this story will flow.
Old roots, new growth.
The new cafe puts its tables out.
Right next to the old bookstore.
The smell of roasted coffee and aging paper, together.
The hum gets a little louder.
The train whistle answers back.