I don’t believe in borders

Or the tyranny of maps

I fear the way they fence us in

And split the white from black

So I will not raise up Saltires

Nor wave the Union Jack

I will not sing those angry songs

My troops will not attack

What makes us what we are?

Whose stories are we telling?

What mix of blood pumps through these veins?

Whose products are we selling?

What shades of grey do we convey?

Whose history compelling?

Who pipes the tunes, who reads the runes?

In whose land are we dwelling?

Send them out or bring them home

These roads are laid wide open

The way of love, the pilgrim path

Requires that chains be broken

Then lay me down in fold of ground

This soil is soft and welcome

The crops we sow must surely grow

The rains fill up the ocean