entangled in the orchestra pit
silent in the trembling before the show
I look to the Maestro and I look down low
the curtain opens and I relive a while
out there, somewhere in the audience a new life
I have thought about it a thousand times
and yet I fear
it is difficult to be born again and play your part in the mist
like being a buoy offshore with no berth below
enchanted amid the turmoil
I'm alive and I await my turn
to play my dulcet solo
captive until forever in the last row
Marco Bo
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