One morning, if you wake up, you’re not going to feel quite right,
Some thing has happened to you, in the depths of the night.
You’ll carry on as normal, try to pretend it’s not real,
But it got its claws in you, it ain’t ever gonna heal.
You give it some time, hoping it’ll go away,
But in the end you realise, it intends to stay.
You make a GP appointment, and he’ll send you for tests,
And you leave his surgery thinking I’d better do as he suggests.
A month or two passes, appointment day arrives,
Probably be best if somebody else drives.
She’ll do an examination, and you’ll ask her what she thinks,
You may have Parkinson’s, she says, and your body sinks.
You’re thrown into turmoil, your life turned upside down,
And you’re left to get on with it, and your smile becomes a frown.
Four years after diagnosis, and continuing to bluff
You’ve had enough, can’t go on, and feel so god damn rough