Mapmaker, Mapmaker,
Show me a new land,
Show me one that's mostly water,
Or covered in burning sands.
You dip your quill in ink,
Set to draft,
All the imaginary lines,
That separate your world from mine.
The cities are but crumbs,
Scatters cross a page,
And the mountains and the trees,
Are the whims that you create.
The seas are all explored,
No corners left unmade,
From edge to edge you know,
Exactly where it all is laid.
The rivers and the valleys,
The lakes and all the roads,
All veins and scars across the world,
Where stories may unfold.
You name each town and forest,
You craft each continent,
Filling in every detail,
Till your ink is all but spent.
Is this world a real one?
Well, who can say,
You've given it all your breath,
So one day some may say,
"Mapmaker, Mapmaker,
Show me a new land,
One that's only been discovered,
By your paper, pen, and hand."
Of course, you've detailed our world,
But that was long ago,
Now you've covered distant realms,
Worlds of joy, or war and woe.
Your eyes see past the clouds,
Beyond our sight,
You see the other planes,
Where we only see the night.
Some share these worlds with words,
Or some with music,
But you're the only one,
Who takes us there to see as you did.
Mapmaker, Mapmaker,
Show me a new land,
Create a world from nothing,
And make us understand.