Forty-nine dead on the southern coast,
Washed up on the beach, at a high cost;
After paying a man, masked in lies.
As the boat shifts, so the hull divides:
A wave-cracked craft cannot hold them all;
Life’s last voice is a mother’s screamed call.
In Turkey, child labour weaves your coats,
(Syrian kids who survived the boats):
They ‘come to invade’ your whitewashed life,
Your back is cloaked by a lost child’s strife.
Westerners live, without compromise,
Easterners will die, for our whitened lies.