Harbour Gold

[Verse 1]
(Spoken, like a voicemail, over a gentle log drum beat)
Hey. It's me. It's Tuesday, just after five…
and the sun's gone thick honey over the Sapref tanks.
I'm up on the ridge, doing that thing again, you know?
Watching the gantries move like sleeping, metal animals.
Sorry, there's a… a truck going past.

[Chorus]
(Sung, lush stacked harmonies, music swells)
Harbour gold on the water
Every colour has a sound

[Verse 2]
(Spoken, beat continues)
The air tastes of diesel and warm sugar cane.
My takkies are sticking a little to the hot tar.
"Count the boxes, Nomvula," you told me once,
"each one's a story from a place you've never seen."
I think I just saw one from Panama.

[Chorus]
(Sung, lush stacked harmonies)
Harbour gold on the water
Every colour has a sound

[Bridge]
(BEAT SWITCH: afro-house drums fall away to an atmospheric tabla loop and ethereal sitar drone. Spoken, more intimate.)
Wait… listen. A foghorn.
And for a second, it's not a port. It's not… heavy.
It's just light on water.
You forget the waiting.

[Outro]
(Spoken, over fading sitar)
Okay. Just… thinking of you. Call me. Bye.