The Bungalow Streets: What Tourists Photograph

Lyrics

[Intro]
Alright, come on. Right this way.
Let's take a walk down St. Charles Avenue.

[Verse 1]
See how the old oaks make a ceiling over the street?
And underneath, the houses breathe.
Low-pitched roofs, holding back that Georgia sun.
A deep front porch for when the day is done.
Built in nineteen-twenty, nineteen-twenty-three.
Solid bones for everyone to see.
Each one a little different, each one the same.
A declaration of a simple aim.

[Chorus]
This is the picture you came to take.
The postcard you'll send back home.
This is Greenwood Avenue in the golden light.
The Craftsman's promise, holding on tight.
This is Virginia Highland in a single frame.
And you'll remember the name.

[Verse 2]
Now look closer. See the details?
The exposed rafter tails under the eaves.
No secrets in the structure, just honest leaves.
Thick, tapered columns on a brick foundation.
A hundred years of quiet conversation.
Maybe this one came right out of a Sears catalog.
Shipped down on a train, piece by piece.
A whole house arriving through the fog.

[Chorus]
This is the picture you came to take.
The postcard you'll send back home.
This is Greenwood Avenue in the golden light.
The Craftsman's promise, holding on tight.
This is Virginia Highland in a single frame.
And you'll remember the name.

[Bridge]
Imagine a sleeping porch on a humid July night.
Before the windows were all sealed up tight.
Just the sound of crickets and a distant train.
Listening to the rhythm of the coming rain.
A window seat, bookshelves built into the wall.
A home designed to catch you if you fall.

[Outro]
One last shot before the light is gone.
A porch swing, a welcome mat, a light turned on.
St. Charles.
Greenwood.
Ponce.
Yeah. You got it.