The World Health Organisation is apparently surprised that a virus doesn't wait for bureaucratic approval to spread, whilst across the pond, the Trump administration has miraculously discovered a refugee crisis worth caring about—coincidentally involving white people. In other cheery news, fathers in Afghanistan are forced to sell their children to eat, a security guard is mourned after a mosque shooting, and the ICC has finally bestirred itself to prosecute a Libyan torturer, proving that justice eventually arrives, usually fashionably late and heavily chlorinated. It's all enough to make one reach for the gin before noon.
🎵 (s)Hit of the Day 🎵
Version 1
Version 2
📜 Lyrics 📜
[Prepared Grand Piano Intro]
[Verse 1]
Two hundred souls became five hundred fast
The Bundibugyo strain has got the past
Outpaced the models and the graphs we drew
One hundred thirty quiet deaths from view
They're prepping vaccines that have never been
To fight a ghost we should have already seen
But gunfire scares the doctors from the door
And chlorine pours on yet another floor
[Tape Loop Delay Build]
[Chorus]
Geography of concern
Drawn with such precise design
Some tragedies make headlines turn
While others wait in line
We measure out the sympathy we send
To those who fit the narrative we tend
[White Noise Generator Swell]
[Verse 2]
An emergency declared with fountain pens
For farmers seeking refuge from their fences
Seventeen thousand fast-tracked through the gate
While fathers trade their children on a plate
The white genocide that wasn't really there
Gets aeroplanes and diplomats who care
But Kabul's dust receives no such embrace
Just wrinkled brows and looking the other way
[Sub-bass Rumble]
[Bridge]
A father of eight in a car park dying
A singer in Freetown in prison lying
The I.C.C. remembers it has power
After fifteen years of looking rather dour
And Nadia finally gets her day in court
The system wakes from its eternal sport
[Reversed Cello Solo]
[Chorus]
Geography of concern
Drawn with such precise design
Some tragedies make headlines turn
While others wait in line
We measure out the sympathy we send
To those who fit the narrative we tend
[Decaying Piano Outro]
[Spoken Whisper]
The virus doesn't read the news
It doesn't know which side to choose