Verse 2 You braided morning into my empty cups, spoke the quiet into coffee, the fierce into my palms. There was a day I thought I lost the map to you — then your laughter folded the edges back. We danced on borrowed rooftops, gave the night a reason, traced a promise in the dust that only we could read.
Soft dusk settles over Accra’s old quarter. The streetlights blink awake like tired lanterns. From a narrow balcony above the market, a warm alto cuts through the evening hum — Ofori’s voice, honeyed and familiar, weaving a story about love that lingers beyond the last refrain.
Chorus (call-and-response) Atweetan — the word still falls from my chest, Atweetan — like prayer beads slipping through my hand. Hold me in the space between now and always, sing me home when the city forgets our names. (Atweetan… atweetan…) Ofori Amponsah ft. Kofi Nti - Atweetan
Outro (whispered) Under the same sky, we mend the small wounds; under the same streetlight, we promise again. Atweetan — and the night remembers how to hold us.
Final Chorus (full, anthemic) Atweetan — your name becomes my lighthouse, Atweetan — I keep it close when storms come calling. No ledger can hold the way you keep me honest; no clock can steal the hours we gave the moon. Atweetan — sing it once, and the world leans in. (Atweetan… atweetan… atweetan…) Verse 2 You braided morning into my empty
Verse 1 Your footsteps echo in the courtyard of my memory, slow as rain on zinc roofs, certain as the tide. You passed with a smile that kept the night awake, and left a name that tastes like palm wine and sweet plantain. I count the hours in the shape of your laugh; even the moon leans closer to listen.
Bridge (duet; harmonies swell) Kofi: I watched the seasons learn your face. Ofori: I learned to carry rain like a secret. Kofi: If roads lead away, they still remember the weight of two feet. Together: Come closer — let us make a harbor from our hands. Soft dusk settles over Accra’s old quarter
Instrumental break — highlife guitar arpeggios ripple, trumpet sighs like distant horns from a trotro, maracas keep the heartbeat steady. The music breathes between the voices; the city listens.