Track 12 – Red Dust
Verse 1
I learned to smile where the past still breathes,
Where history hides in the way folks leave.
We danced in the open, but listened for signs,
Like joy had to borrow a safer time.
They called some names like they owned the truth,
But we kept our light like a quiet proof—
Not loud with it… just unashamed,
A seed in the dust that refuses chains.
Verse 2
I’ve been “from here” and “not quite,” same day,
A passport heart in a rented place.
New streets teach rhythm, old streets teach tone,
How to laugh with your guard up, still feel at home.
Some folks wear flags like a locked front gate,
Some folks love you but negotiate—
I don’t beg for belonging, I don’t discuss…
I’m a seed in the red dust.
Verse 3
They said my roots were a kind of crime,
Drawn by hands that revised the time.
A blend they feared would change the room,
A question mark learning how to bloom.
But I’m not a lesson for their debates,
I’m a living thing with a chosen name.
M.U. five-one-four-seven-four…—small miracle,
Growing in places they swore were barren.
Verse 4
I’ve felt that look—like “prove your worth,”
Like love got taxes, like joy got a curfew.
I’ve watched a “maybe” turn to “never” quick,
When the crowd got brave with a moral flick.
But I’ve also seen two souls stand still,
Hold hands like thunder, quiet but real.
Sometimes survival is tenderness first,
Sometimes the sweetest things hurt.
Verse 5
I don’t tell the whole story—some parts stay sealed,
But you can hear it in how my chest still heals.
In how I trust slow, in how I move fast,
In how I make futures out of a past.
If you know exiles, you know the weight:
The “Where you from?” that isn’t just fate.
So I answer with growth, I answer with grit—
A flower that learned how to live in it.
Verse 6
They call us “other,” then copy our sound,
Take our rhythm, leave us on the ground.
Call it culture when it pays their rent,
Call it “too much” when we represent.
But I keep my joy like a candle in gusts,
I keep my love like a promise in rust.
I’m not their symbol, I’m not their excuse—
I’m a seed in the red dust, breaking through.
Hook
I’m a seed in the red dust—watch me rise,
Petals in the heat with the calm in my eyes.
If the past got a grip, I shake loose, I don’t rust—
M.U.51474… a seed in the red dust.
Outro
M.U… five-one-four-seven-four…
Not a story—just a bloom.