Unfolding today: a miracle play, this Indiana morn,
The father, he sighs,
She opens her eyes,
Their baby boy is born.
"We don't understand; he's not like we planned,"
The doctor shakes his head,
"Abnormal," they cry, and so they decide this child is better dead.
I bear the blame,
Believers are few, and what am I to do?
I share the shame,
The cradle's below, and where is Baby Doe?
A hearing is sought, the lawyers are bought,
The court won't let him eat,
The papers applaud when judges play God,
This child is getting weak,
They're drawing a bead, reciting their creed: "Respect a woman's choice,"
I've heard that before,
How can you ignore? - This baby has a voice.
I bear the blame,
Believers are few, and what am I to do?
I share the shame,
The cradle's below and where is Baby Doe?
Where will it end?
Oh, no, no.
It's over and done, the presses have run,
Some call the parents brave,
Behind your disguise your rhetoric lies,
You watched a baby starve.
I bear the blame,
The cradle's below and where is baby?
