Born missing an ear, he looks so queer, with half an arm they hold so dear. Stay away from here and don't ask why he cries a tear from a hateful eye. The victim of a doctor's pride, the saviour called Thalidomide, disfigured from the age of none, a failure before her life's begun. Her lack of limbs restricts her will to k** the instigators of that pill. Yet still you hide your attitudes behind bouquets of platitudes. Can you look her in the face without disgust? Do you suspect a trace of slight mistrust? You gave her a name to pretend she's the same; oh isn't it a shame she's not to blame for laughing at your sympathy a discord in life's symphony. The state pays out ten thousand pounds, insuring damage on moral grounds. The paper shines accusing signs, the Sunday Times and medical crimes. 'What compensation can they give to replace the life you cannot live?" If you could look inside his mind you'd cry from guilt at what you find. But love it seems is hard to bear for how can you say how little they care when mothers and fathers, blind and bland, love what they don't understand?