There's a girl on the corner
In talking-kneed jeans
A hand on her hip, she collects lucky beans
She answers her phone
It's a 3310
She gives a rainbird laugh, she's cooking dinner for a friend
Beautiful windows
All covered in bars
Cursed by the boy who is watching the cars
His People sing now with drums and guitars
Sirens and churchbells toll from afar
Now the girl begins walking
In talking-kneed jeans
Her pockets are filled with poisonous seeds
She'll cook them tonight
To brighten her stew
I know I should tell her, that's what I should do
But something there in the sound of the bells
Veld fire, it's got that East Cape smell
Now what I heard in the
Bells swelling slow
To die is the only true freedom we know
Her friend arrives
She hitches a ride
It seemed to me a good day to die