You covinence yourself to live each day to the fullest,

Following out the cliche of your own experience.

You hide your fear from your family and tell your friends one truth,

"the prognosis is relatively good."

The others you don't say.

Sometimes the heaviness of hope gets to you

And what you need most is to feel the purity of fear

To let it burn out the details of your day to day life.

You live in this underworld, 

You now let yourself know, 

Here with fear and with a loss

That cannot be compensated.

You know this is a private underworld

And that to talk of it too much might destroy something, 

But sometimes hope's burden is too much,

And what you crave more than some sign of perpetual life

Is the clarity to say things as they really are.