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