In a world where money is so precious
People protect it like it’s gold
In a far away place under scorching sun
A story shall unfold
A boy walks eleven miles each day
To carry water in a can
Water so filthy and rancid in taste
It is poisonous to man
As the modern world sell stocks and shares
To balance up the books
He sits under sun, covered in flies
Receiving filthy looks
The West ignore this imagery
“Not another famine again”
How many have there been since 85?
One? Two? no ten
As you debate another holiday
Sitting in the sun
He cannot escape its fiery wrath
The torture has only just begun
So as Friday night approaches
And you dance into the night so wild
Take a second to think of me
The poor forgotten child
