The Vortex on N Druid Hills (The Other Toco)

Lyrics

Laughing skull. 
Big old grinning thing.
North Druid Hills Road, right?
Close enough to smell the grease. 
Friday night. 
My kind of Friday night.

Walk through the mouth. 
All teeth and promises.
Bar's loud. 
Smells like victory and onions on a flat-top grill.
Bartender just nods. He knows the order.
The one the doctor warned you about.
The one they named the Coronary Bypass.
Two patties, bacon stacked like firewood.
Cheese melting down the sides like lava.
A monument.

And just down the road, LaVista is quiet.
Families walking slow in the Friday dark.
Best shoes on. 
Heading for the shul.
And the skull, it just keeps grinning.
Heavy metal thunder, quiet Sabbath prayer.
Sharing the same zip code. 
Sharing the same air.

I can picture it.
The candles in the windows.
The sound of conversation, not a power chord in sight.
The invisible line of the eruv stretched over the streetlights, holding the whole thing together. 
A room with no walls.
And here I am, in a room with walls plastered in beer signs and rock posters.
Two different kinds of sanctuary.

'Cause just down the road, LaVista is quiet.
Families walking slow in the Friday dark.
Best shoes on. 
Heading for the shul.
And the skull, it just keeps grinning.
Heavy metal thunder, quiet Sabbath prayer.
Sharing the same zip code. 
Sharing the same air.

Some places, this would be a fight.
A culture war on a street corner.
Not here. Toco Hills just holds it.
The kosher butcher and the biker bar.
The skull face grinning since 1996, watching the new subdivisions rise.
You choose your temple. 
You choose your hymn.
Mine's a Marshall stack tonight. 
Mine's this glorious, beautiful sin on a bun. 
This is Atlanta, man. We make room.

One last bite. 
The whole beautiful mess.
I walk out, back through the teeth.
The skull still grinning at the traffic.
I can almost hear the quiet from here.
Almost.