The Rial in My Pocket

Lyrics

The engine ticks over.
Another Tuesday in 2026.

My Paykan cab is yellow, the seat covers are torn.
Smells like gasoline and the dust of Tehran.
On the passenger side, secured with a band,
is a stack of paper that weighs down my hand.
Half a million for a trip to the square.
Yesterday it was less.
Tomorrow… who cares.

I don't count the zeros anymore.
I count by the inch, by the weight on the floor.
A fare to the bazaar is a brick on the dash.
I'm just working for paper, this beautiful trash.
The Rial in my pocket, it ain't worth the thread.
Just the ghost of a promise, the words someone said.

A woman in black, she goes three city blocks.
Hands me a bundle, thick as a box.
She says the price in Toman, her eyes look away.
We all do the math in our heads all day.
Subtracting the zeroes, just to make it make sense.
This paper wall building, this future tense.

I don't count the zeros anymore.
I count by the inch, by the weight on the floor.
A fare to the bazaar is a brick on the dash.
I'm just working for paper, this beautiful trash.
The Rial in my pocket, it ain't worth the thread.
Just the ghost of a promise, the words someone said.

I remember my father, a single bill in his fist.
He bought us a chicken, a night we all missed.
That paper had heft, it had meaning and sound.
Now I'd need a suitcase to buy a patch of ground.
Some man on the news talked of 'psychology'.
He never had to trade a day's work for an apology.

The sun bleeds out over the Alborz range.
I drive past the Sarafi, the numbers all change.
Green light, red light, a river of cars.
Everyone's carrying their own paper scars.
I turn up the radio, a forgotten old song.
Wondering where all the value went wrong.

A fare to the bazaar...
A brick on the dash...
Just beautiful trash...