Terminus: The City That Names Its Stores

Lyrics

Terminus... Marthasville... Atlanta... Eighteen thirty-seven. Just the end of the line. Red clay and pine trees. Western & Atlantic Railroad stopped here. Called it Terminus. Not a promise, just a fact. The clang of the hammer on the rail was the only song. A place defined by what it wasn't yet. Then, a softer sound. Eighteen forty-two. They gave it a girl's name. Martha Lumpkin, the governor's daughter. Marthasville. Felt like a town for a minute. Felt like a place someone could be from. A name you could whisper. A name with a heartbeat. Oh, this city's always been a ghost of what we call it. A name written on a map, a story on our lips. We breathe the name, and the streets appear. We name the corners, we name the fears. We name the grocery stores like they're family we know. It's how we make a home here. It's how we watch it grow. Then the men with maps and ambition came. Eighteen forty-five. J. Edgar Thomson, he saw the ocean. Saw the Pacific from the Georgia dust. Atlantica-Pacifica. And he gave us a name that sounded like an engine. Atlanta. A name with steam in its lungs. A name that pointed everywhere at once. Oh, this city's always been a ghost of what we call it. A name written on a map, a story on our lips. We breathe the name, and the streets appear. We name the corners, we name the fears. We name the grocery stores like they're family we know. It's how we make a home here. It's how we watch it grow. From Terminus to Marthasville, a history of signs. The same hands that drew the borders, drew the battle lines. And now that same hunger, it finds a smaller stage. Not a city, but an aisle. Not a charter, but a nickname whispered in the checkout line. A new kind of map, drawn in parking lots and fluorescent light. Murder Kroger... Disco Kroger... Soviet... Stripper... Kosher... Kroghetto... The name on the sign is just a suggestion. The real name is the one we give it. The one we know.