BeltLine Bells & Roaring Lions

Lyrics

Six a.m.
The air is still cool on the porch.
And there it is.
The first note of the day.

The gibbons are singing their weird, lonely song from the zoo.
Sounds like a question mark hanging over the oaks.
Then the birds start, a language I don't know but understand.
Down on the pavement, the first runner’s soft-shoe rhythm.
A whisper of tires on the new BeltLine path.
The city is tuning its strings.

This is the song that our little piece of the city sings.
A symphony made of a thousand forgotten things.
The click-whir of wheels on the concrete line.
The playground laughter, a sound so fine.
And under it all, the heartbeat, the sign...
BeltLine bells and roaring lions.

By noon, the sun is high and the park is a lung, breathing deep.
The splash pad screams with joy.
The swing sets keep their own time, a patient, rusted creak.
Two streets over, the BeltLine is a river of people.
A bright little bell... excuse me... thank you.
The click-click-whir of a skateboarder I never see.

This is the song that our little piece of the city sings.
A symphony made of a thousand everyday things.
The click-whir of wheels on the concrete line.
The playground laughter, a sound so fine.
And under it all, the heartbeat, the sign...
BeltLine bells and roaring lions.

And then the light gets gold.
Dusk settles like dust on the Victorian railings.
The porch lights blink on, one by one down Sydney Street.
The day-sounds fade.
The chatter softens to a murmur.
The screen door slams, a gentle punctuation mark.
And you think the song is over.
You think it's time for quiet.

But then it comes.
From five miles away, a sound from another world.
A hundred and fourteen decibels of wild.
Cutting through the humid air.
A reminder.
A bass note for the whole neighborhood.
The last bike bell fades.
The lion has the last word.
Always.