A New Red Land

[Chorus]
The good man's money in your hand.
The weight of it, a new red land.

[Chorus]
The good man's money in your hand.
The weight of it, a new red land.

[Verse 1]
The last 11B taxi from Rosebank is breathing slow.
Past the iron gates of Linden where the tired hedges grow.
Her face is in the window glass, a ghost against the drone.
The driver's playing maskandi from a cracked-screen phone.

[Verse 2]
It's wedged beside the vinyl seat, a worn brown leather square.
That smell of winter dust on rain hangs heavy in the air.
She thumbs the notes, a quiet shock, somebody else's year.
He watches her forget to breathe, the shape of a new fear.

[Bridge]
He wants to say, "Naledi, sharp." Just that.
The engine hums a low, flat chat.
The silence draws a brand new map.

[Chorus]
(Pitched up a semitone)
The good man's money in your hand.
The weight of it, a new red land.

[Outro]
Her finger on the ID photo.
First rain on the glass... staccato.