Dust on the Vihuela (Lagos-209)

(Intro: Distant static, sound of a Lagos bus conductor shouting 'Obalende!' pitching down into a demonic drone. Slow, melancholic vihuela strumming...)

(Verse 1)

Neon dust on the strings, I can’t feel my hands

Just a ghost in the mall of the promised lands

From the Gulf of Guinea to the Martian plains