|
See the child |
|
With the golden hair |
|
Yet eyes that show the emptiness inside |
|
Do we know |
|
Can we understand just how he feels |
|
Or have we really tried |
|
|
|
See him now |
|
As he stands alone |
|
And watches children play a children's game |
|
Simple child |
|
He looks almost like the others |
|
Yet they know he's not the same |
|
|
|
Scorn not his simplicity |
|
But rather try to love him all the more |
|
Scorn not his simplicity |
|
Oh no |
|
Oh no |
|
|
|
See him stare |
|
Not recognizing the kind face |
|
That only yesterday he loved |
|
The loving face |
|
Of a mother who can't understand |
|
what she's been guilty of |
|
|
|
How she cried, tears of happiness |
|
the day the doctor told her it's a boy |
|
Now she cries tears of helplessness |
|
and thinks of all the things he can't enjoy |
|
|
|
Scorn not his simplicity |
|
But rather try to love him all the more |
|
Scorn not his simplicity |
|
Oh no |
|
Oh no |
|
|
|
Only he knows how to face the future hopefully |
|
Surrounded by despair |
|
He won't ask for your pity or your sympathy |
|
But surely you should care |
|
|
|
Scorn not his simplicity |
|
But rather try to love him all the more |
|
Scorn not his simplicity |
|
Oh no |
|
Oh no |
|
Oh no |
