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
|
|
-----------------
|
Scorn Not His Simplicity
|
| Sinead O'Connor |
