Trolley Ghosts: Whispers of the Old Line

Lyrics

Edgewood Avenue, do you still feel it?
Underneath the new blacktop, the summer patches.
Do you remember the weight?

I walk here when the air is thick, after a rain.
The streetlights make the wet asphalt shine.
And I think about the iron, sleeping just below.
Two straight lines of steel, buried alive.
A spine for a neighborhood that hadn't learned to walk yet.

It was August. Eighteen eighty-nine.
Joel Hurt stood watching, I imagine.
Heard the sound that wasn't a horse, wasn't a mule.
It was a hum from the future. A whirring promise.
And the scent of ozone, sharp on the humid air.
The Atlanta Constitution called it a beautiful car.

And the trolley ghost still runs the line tonight.
A flicker in the corner of your eye.
The blue-white flash of the pole hitting the wire.
A current without a source.
A phantom bell, ringing for a turn that isn't there.
Just whispers of the old line.

The barn at 963 still stands.
The big doors don't open for a trolley anymore.
They open for weddings, for parties under string lights.
But the bricks remember the grease and the cold morning starts.
The gentle curve past the park... that was for you, wasn't it?
Drawn for your path.

You can pave over a revolution.
Pour tar on the track that changed everything.
From the slow rhythm of hooves to the smooth, electric glide.
But the ground holds a memory.
A low vibration.
A ghost in the grid.

And the trolley ghost still runs the line tonight.
A flicker in the corner of your eye.
The blue-white flash of the pole hitting the wire.
A current without a source.
A phantom bell, ringing for a turn that isn't there.
Just whispers of the old line.

Do you feel it, Edgewood?
The spark... under your skin.