Sandy Springs Festival: A Community's Embrace

Lyrics

[Intro]
It’s that weekend in September.
The air gets that little edge.
And you can hear it from three blocks away…
A bass drum, and the happy noise of a crowd.
Yeah, you know the one.

[Verse 1]
It started in nineteen eighty-four.
Before the city had a name on the door.
Before the charter was signed and sealed.
We were here.
On the grounds of Heritage Sandy Springs.
We gathered by the Williams-Payne House, felt the history in things.
Just a few tents, a local band finding its key.
A stubborn little town deciding what it wanted to be.

[Chorus]
And here it is again, the great embrace.
Every face a neighbor, every smile in its place.
The smell of kettle corn hanging in the air.
The sound of children laughing, without a single care.
This is the rhythm of our year, the beat we all know.
Under the Georgia sun, watching the community grow.

[Verse 2]
And now we walk across the street, to the City Springs green.
The festival spills over, a whole new scene.
Artisans’ Row, a hundred white tents in the sun.
Pottery gleaming, bright paintings, work just begun.
There’s a long line for barbecue at the Food Truck Alley.
The high school jazz band is giving it their all, a final rally.
You see the mayor shaking hands, you see your third-grade teacher.
Every part of us is here, every kind of creature.

[Chorus]
And here it is again, the great embrace.
Every face a neighbor, every smile in its place.
The smell of kettle corn hanging in the air.
The sound of children laughing, without a single care.
This is the rhythm of our year, the beat we all know.
Under the Georgia sun, watching the community grow.

[Bridge]
And every ticket for the rides, every craft you buy…
It’s more than just a memory under the autumn sky.
It’s a fundraiser, see?
It keeps the lights on at the museum, protects the well-house spring.
It’s the fun that fuels the history, the joy that makes us sing.
It’s Eva’s vision, still alive and breathing here.
Building a city on a feeling, year after year.

[Outro]
The sun dips behind the stage.
The last funnel cake is sold.
The volunteers are starting to fold the chairs, a story told.
And we walk home, tired and full.
With the music still in our ears.
Yeah.
See you next year.