Borderless

Passport says one thing.
Heart says borderless.

Auntie in London sends the riddim to Accra,
cousin in Kingston flips it by casa,
a DJ in Mumbai adds a tabla line,
a kid in Berlin makes the video shine.
Four stamps, one song, no visa applied —
the melody cleared customs on the first ride.
Nobody asked it where it was from;
everybody claimed it as their own song.

You can fence the land and gate the shore,
stamp the paper, lock the door —
but a rhythm never stood in line:
what moves the body crosses every time.

Borderless — how music moves,
borderless — how love proves.
Stamp my hand, not my soul:
some things cross border-whole.

Sound crosses! (let it)
Love crosses! (let it)
We cross! (together)

A recipe walked from Aleppo to Lyon
in a grandmother's memory, and carried on.
A proverb sailed from Luanda to Bahia,
came back on a beat as a brand-new idea.
A nurse's kindness in a foreign ward
needs no translation, no accord.
Show me the checkpoint that ever could
hold back a song or a stranger's good.

You can fence the land and gate the shore,
stamp the paper, lock the door —
but a rhythm never stood in line:
what moves the body crosses every time.

Borderless — how music moves,
borderless — how love proves.
Stamp my hand, not my soul:
some things cross border-whole.

Truth is, the map is real — I hold a passport too,
I wait in the same long line as you.
But watch what happens when the beat drops in the terminal:
every tired traveler starts to move a little.
The best of us was always borderless.

Hands up! (no line)
One floor! (one time)
(borderless)

Borderless — how music moves,
borderless — how love proves.
Stamp my hand, not my soul:
some things cross border-whole.
(borderless)

The song never showed papers.
It just arrived. (borderless)