Little Five Points: The Rebel's Corner

Lyrics

There's a corner in this town
Where the city map gets frayed at the edges.
Where the straight lines of Peachtree
Just kind of give up.
You can feel it in the air before you see it.
Something's different here.
The old bank on the corner
Doesn't hold money anymore.
It holds ghosts and cheap beer.
The walls are breathing with a decade of spray paint,
Names over names, a conversation that never ends.
The air is thick with patchouli from a shop door,
The burn of fresh coffee,
The whisper of a guitar string being tested
down at the Variety Playhouse.
This is Little Five Points.
Where Euclid Avenue hits Moreland Drive.
This is the city's crooked smile, its rebel heart.
The skyscrapers can scrape the sky all they want,
But down here, we hold the line.
Down here, we remember how to be weird.
You walk past the giant skull at The Vortex,
It dares you not to grin.
Go get lost inside the Junkman's Daughter,
Find a wig from 1972, a t-shirt for a band that never existed.
Hear the low thud of a kick drum
Bleeding out from the Star Bar in the afternoon.
This ain't no curated life, no polished Avalon dream.
This is real, and it's beautifully messy.
This is Little Five Points.
Where Euclid Avenue hits Moreland Drive.
This is the city's crooked smile, its rebel heart.
The developers can draw their blueprints,
But down here, we hold the line.
Down here, we remember how to be weird.
I think about the kids who came here in the seventies,
Running from the suburbs, looking for a tribe.
The artists with hands full of color,
The shop owners who said "no thanks" to the chains.
They built this place out of stubbornness and vinyl records.
And they're still here, in the brick and the spirit.
Yeah, this is Little Five Points.
Where Euclid Avenue hits Moreland Drive.
This is the city's crooked smile, its rebel heart.
The whole damn world can change its tune,
But down here, we hold the line.
Down here, we remember how to be weird.
Yeah, we hold the line.
Just hold the line.