Cover your eyes, and what do you see?

Is it the grass, or the sky, is it me?

Why must we make all of our judgements with sight,

When all that matters is what's wrong and what's right?

If I were to tell you all the good that I feel,

Would it make what you see that much less real?

I like to believe, that with life as it is,

That there's more to living than the mere look of this:

A beautiful child, he innocent still,

Who plays by the waters, and trots up the hill.

What a scene, what a scene! But why does it matter?

As long as it's fun, his world view will not shatter.

His eyes are yet blind to death and decay, 

And he knows not the diff'r'nce between night and day.

What he sees may enchant him, but people are dull,

And if they have his heart,

They have been in his skull.

Their faces don't scare him,

He's got nothing to fear,

He knows he is safe,

There is no judgement here.