[Intro]
Daloa wakes with a hum, a kettle and a crowd half-awake
The radio breathes in the quiet streets, the smile in every break
[Verse 1]
Bonjour, bon matin, the market sighs in copper and light
A host with a warm mic, I cradle voices til they take flight
Kids tug at shoelaces, grandmères hum songs of the old days
I weave their laughter into the map of our sidewalks and bays
[Pre-Chorus]
Through the static I hear the drum of daily life
Woks on flames, children’s chalk, aunties counting tiny rites
[Chorus]
In this little town, the signal holds us close
We share the small triumphs, the coffee steam and hopeful prose
Neighbors on the line, telling stories line by line
Daloa speaks in color, every heartbeat a design
[Verse 2]
Benz and bus tires sing on the tar, a rhythm I know by sight
A mother cries, a father waves, the river gleams in fading light
We praise the tiny wins, a child learns to ride a bike
A farmer gates the dawn, the radio keeps the faith alive
[Pre-Chorus]
Between the chores and prayers, a chorus rises slow
We stitch together futures in the glow of the radio
[Chorus]
In this little town, the signal holds us close
We share the small triumphs, the coffee steam and hopeful prose
Neighbors on the line, telling stories line by line
Daloa speaks in color, every heartbeat a design
[Bridge]
If one voice wavers, another lends a steady tune
Together we rise, like millet under the rising moon
[Chorus]
In this little town, the signal holds us close
We share the small triumphs, the coffee steam and hopeful prose
Neighbors on the line, telling stories line by line
Daloa speaks in color, every heartbeat a design
[Outro]
So I sign off with a whisper, until dawn finds us again
Holding hands through airwaves, where home begins to mend
