Inheritance Tax

[Verse 1]
Old Mrs. Avery, out past the perimeter fence at 4:18,
the air tastes like ozone and things the construction erased.
She smooths out a Lincoln on the cool of the CSX rail,
a small, quiet ritual that the blueprints can't detail.
One for the family that couldn't make rent last May,
one for the backhoe that scraped all the dogwoods away.
She whispers, "This here's the tax, boy, this is the toll you pay,
when they try to build heaven on top of a shallow grave."

[Chorus]
They call it development, we call it bad wiring,
a ghost in the circuit, a truth that they ain't hiring.
This is that foundation hymn that the concrete can't smother,
one flattened penny laid down for another.

[Verse 2]
I watch from the skybox, screen twenty-two flickerin' blue,
loggin' the new ghosts, pretending they somethin' new.
That rebar cage rises where the corner store used to be,
they trade a whole history for pre-fabricated luxury.
The foreman got spreadsheets, stress-tested and color-keyed,
but he can't account for this deep-rooted, stubborn weed.
This small act of memory, this pressure-applied belief,
stronger than load-bearing columns—my own little stunned relief.

[Chorus]
They call it development, we call it bad wiring,
a ghost in the circuit, a truth that they ain't hiring.
This is that foundation hymn that the concrete can't smother,
one flattened penny laid down for another.

[Bridge]
Condemned and rebuilt, but the ground keeps the stain,
a flicker of voltage that still speaks a name.
A glitch in the system, a pressure that builds and builds,
on East Point soil that nobody owns, but everybody feels.

(Sound of a distant train whistle, then 3-5 seconds of silence)

[Outro]
(Sound of a train rumbling past, close and loud)
Just a thin piece of copper... holding the whole damn line.