In the heart of the South where the Cumberland flows,
Lies Nashville, the city where melody grows.
‘Neath the veil of the night by soft lamplight’s glow,
Whispers of history in every echo.
Majestic in grace, like a raven’s dark wing,
Its streets hold the secrets and songs that we sing.
The Grand Ole Opry, a spectral grand stage,
Haunts with the sounds of each bygone age.
There, spirits of minstrels in twilight repose,
Strum chords of heartache, of love, and of woes.
The twang of a guitar, a sorrowful plea,
Binds the soul of the city in minor key tragedy.
Oh, Nashville, your nights draped in velveteen skies,
Reveal not the shadows that under you lie.
The river, a mirror, reflects the stark gleam
Of stars that watch over this land of dream.
Beneath every footstep on worn wooden floors,
Echoes of boots that have danced before.
And in each whispered breeze that the evening will toss,
Lingers the perfume of magnolia and moss.
So here in the haunt of old legends’ abode,
The music plays on in its hallowed postcode.
For as long as the river runs, wild and free,
Nashville shall be what the past decreed.
A city, a sanctuary, where old ghosts roam,
In the heart of Tennessee, forever home.
Edgar’s soft shadow might wander and weave,
Through the melodies born on a cool Southern eve.