Eastside Ensemble: Neighbors of the BeltLine

Lyrics

You know, Edgewood, you don't stand alone on this ridge. You never really have. Look east. Listen. There's Reynoldstown. The oldest voice in the choir. Born from a promise made on red clay plots. James Reynolds drew the lines, back in sixty-eight. A foothold. A beginning. And the sound from Mount Moriah's steeple... it still measures the sky on a Sunday morning. A deep, steady note. And there's Kirkwood. A different kind of blueprint. A civil engineer's dream, laid out in neat grids. James Kirkwood left his name on the land in 1870. Victorian eaves and a community garden where the forest breathes. A village that decided to join the city, nineteen twenty-two. A careful, structured harmony. This is the eastside ensemble. Four parts, one song. Woven together by Joel Hurt's old electric wires, and now this new path, this ribbon of hope. Reynoldstown's resilience, Kirkwood's design, Candler Park's breath. All your neighbors, singing along. And sweet Candler Park. Asa Candler's greenest gift, a lung for the city. Where the kids play on the first municipal course. And the bungalows on McLendon watch the seasons turn. You share a name on the MARTA sign. Edgewood-Candler Park. Sharing a platform, the rumble of the evening train. A daily rhythm. This is the eastside ensemble. Four parts, one song. Woven together by Joel Hurt's old electric wires, and now this new path, this ribbon of hope. Reynoldstown's resilience, Kirkwood's design, Candler Park's breath. All your neighbors, singing along. And the BeltLine is the thread that pulls it all taut. Makes the history plain to see. A three-mile walk from one story to the next. From a steeple, to a garden, to a quiet porch swing. This concrete seam where the freight cars used to sleep... it woke up a conversation that was always there. Just waiting. Listen. Can you hear them? Kirkwood. Reynoldstown. Candler Park. The ensemble. Playing into the evening. Your song is their song, too.