[Verse 1] Carney stands where the ministers sit, in the Strasbourg chamber, he won't quit, says the maple leaf wants a seat near the door, not quite inside, but closer than before. The New York Times calls it a pivot, clean, turning away from the old routine, stitching Canada to the continent's hem— Ottawa's courting Europe again. [Chorus] A category that doesn't exist yet, we're writing the rulebook as we go, half in, half out, but all in for the bet, associate—watch the borders blur slow. Ottawa's leaning, Brussels is learning, two shores closer than the map would show. [Verse 2] Across the Channel, a megapoll found half of Britain wants to turn around, the Guardian says Labour could ride that tide, "rejoin" whispered on the voters' side. NATO still hums its old alliance tune, but the table's setting one more spoon— Canada's chair, still waiting there, pulled a little closer by the autumn air. [Bridge] Eighty-two percent, the poll line climbs, tariffs from the south feel like warning chimes, Canseco counts the worried, counting clear— no wonder Ottawa's looking elsewhere. Carney welcomes what Le Monde defines: the first associate, drawing new lines. [Verse 3] BBC says "welcomes," plain and true, a title minted, brand new residue, not a member, not a stranger either, something stitched between familiar and freer. Dalhousie's experts lean on the word, "doesn't exist yet"—but it's being heard, while somewhere a chamber in Strasbourg applauds and Ottawa drafts its brand-new clause. [Chorus] A category that doesn't exist yet, we're writing the rulebook as we go, half in, half out, but all in for the bet, associate—watch the borders blur slow. Ottawa's leaning, Brussels is learning, two shores closer than the map would show. [Verse 4] Trade ministers trade their careful words, while economists count the passing birds, a billion in exports hanging on a phrase, Ottawa's gambit through Brussels' maze. The euro and the loonie, strange dance partners now, neither fully trusting, neither sure how, but Carney keeps signing, line after line, sketching the shape of a new design. Fishermen in Halifax watch the wire, wondering if Europe's warmth is a passing fire, while farmers in the prairies raise a wary brow at quotas drawn in a language they don't know how. [Bridge 2] Some call it clever, some call it a risk, a diplomatic shuffle, quick and brisk, but the polling keeps shifting, the charts keep bending, old certainties slowly unending. Maybe it's Europe calling Canada home, maybe it's Canada building its own dome, either way the ink is already dry, on a category born beneath this sky. [Outro] October fourth, the maps redrawn, half of London humming for the dawn, Canada drifting toward the eastern light— the fourth of October, the headlines write.
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