Nations

The birds, sky and trees don't care where the lines fall
Like rain doesn't care where it ends up at all
The songs from our past and the stories collect
Dust while our language twists, bends and forgets
It will all look the same in the end
Despite what we're taught to pretend
There will come a time when all that's left is a hint of a name
Name

A sea serpent hugging faint lines some hand drew
Writing a narrative of what it's been through
To make up a story about nations past
As if they were perfect, forever steadfast
We could all go back to some time
When everything was perfectly aligned
There will come a time when all that's left is a hint of a name
A few crumpled maps marking borders where nobody's been