I wonder when the doctor says that somethings not quite right.
I wonder why the blurry vison is troubling my sight.
The tests they come, back to back, and discover the awful truth.
The tumor is large and in the brain, nothing they said could soothe.
They talk about the chances and the treatment they'd prescribe.
The doctors say the chance is low that I would even survive.
So I grab myself by the boot straps, and lift myself up high.
I know that I am terminal, no matter how they lie.
I feel that life is very short and must make the most of it.
While on the earth these last few months my life I will not quit.
I wonder about creation, the sky, the birds, the trees.
But mostly I wonder why this disease and, Oh Lord, why me?