Misery Index

Flushed from the fields on the Malian steppe
Carved out from wombs that our fathers beset
As giants we sleep, where hopelessness ends
An UN statistics, we're counted and fed
Children of war, hunger, and filth
Dragged through the dust in our misery
Where you won't be seen alive...
In diamond mines, in textile looms,
As cocaine mules, and prostitutes... we don't exist
They take us young, borders be damned