No, it’s mamaya No, it’s mamaya Little wrong word in a big dark city No, it’s mamaya No, it’s mamaya Say it like the fruit still remembers me Rain on the wires, blue on the street Old sign buzzing with a broken beat Somewhere under the crossing light A small voice laughs from another life I see the market in a pixel blur Plastic bag swinging, bright fruit first Mother said papaya, clear and true I said no, it’s mamaya, like I knew One little mistake with the sugar still on it One little word with a whole world caught in it City goes chrome, but the memory stays Soft and orange in the noise and rain Mamaya, mamaya No, it’s mamaya A funny little word made the color come back Mamaya, mamaya No, it’s mamaya I found a childhood sun in a paper bag Keep the wrong name Keep the warm taste Keep the small laugh lit where the old signs blink Mamaya, mamaya No, it’s mamaya Some memories survive because they sing like that Ma-ma-mamaya Fruit-light in the rainline Ma-ma-mamaya Warm word on a cold sign Ma-ma-mamaya Pocket sun, paper bag Ma-ma-mamaya Bring the bright thing back Bass from a basement under noodle steam Bell from a crosswalk going green, green, green Drill hats chatter on a rain-slick roof Steel pan flashes like a missing tooth Cheap little speaker by a shuttered store Coughs up a melody and asks for more Fruit peel curls by the vending light Orange against all that electric night Every fragment wants a mouth to find Streetlamp, receipt, mother’s voice, old sign A wrong little word with its shoes untied Runs through the alleys with the color inside One little mistake with the sugar still on it One little word with a whole world caught in it City goes chrome, but the memory stays Soft and orange in the noise and rain Mamaya, mamaya No, it’s mamaya A funny little word made the color come back Mamaya, mamaya No, it’s mamaya I found a childhood sun in a paper bag Keep the wrong name Keep the warm taste Keep the small laugh lit where the old signs blink Mamaya, mamaya No, it’s mamaya Some memories survive because they sing like that No, it’s ma No, it’s ma No, it’s mamaya At the edge of the map with a pocket of rain Reading loose signs like they still know my name Not from the center, not from the throne Just catching small sparks from the streets on loan A vending machine blinks twice in blue A fruit stall shines where the night leaks through A bike bell rings, then the bassline bends And a child’s wrong word comes back again Not holy, not heavy, not trying to preach Just orange on memory, sweet on speech A tiny mistake with a stubborn grin Knocks on the future and lets itself in It opens a door in the city noise To a child with a fruit and a fearless voice No, no, no, that’s not right Mamaya glows in the vending light Maybe the things that stay are small A bag in the hand, a name said wrong Rain on a sign, fruit on a tongue A little laugh outliving where it came from It stayed in the crease of a paper bag In fruit-stall light and a crosswalk flash It hid in the warm wrong sound Till the song turned back around Then someone sang papaya And the old light opened wide Mamaya woke up smiling With the city in its eyes Mamaya, mamaya No, it’s mamaya A funny little word made the color come back Mamaya, mamaya No, it’s mamaya I found a childhood sun in a paper bag Keep the wrong name Keep the warm taste Keep the small laugh lit where the old signs blink Mamaya, mamaya No, it’s mamaya Some memories survive because they sing like that Ma-ma-mamaya Fruit-light in the rainline Ma-ma-mamaya Warm word on a cold sign Ma-ma-mamaya Pocket sun, paper bag Ma-ma-mamaya Bring the bright thing back No, it’s mamaya No, it’s mamaya Little wrong word in a big dark city No, it’s mamaya No, it’s mamaya Say it like the fruit still remembers me
