I did not know it then,
I did not know it when he was alive:
my father was
the ground beneath my feet.
An earthquake came
An earthquake broke and crumbled
the ground beneath my feet.
There’s no such thing as certainty,
and life is fickle,
but Marco’s playing Bach,
and weaves a golden carpet
of sweet sounds
to dance upon.
There’s no such thing as certainty,
and life goes by as music;
there’s nothing left to do
but dance
without the ground beneath my feet.
