Don't sing him a song, for no words can he hear
The sounds of the world won't alight on his ear,
The tension of life will pass him by
While on the bed of pain he'll lie.
No worries will he know, for his ears are dead,
Don't cry him a song, some old voice said,
His eye will not see, his brain will not think
His arms are all weary, possessing no link.
Man created this thing, they gave to it life,
God created man then gave him a wife.
But for all this the tension was wrought
They made it a good world, or so they thought.
This thing without arms, this thing without head,
this thing that is sad and inconceivably dead,
The miracle of God or so some may say
It's worthless to us so cast it away.