If I Sing

My father's pride
 was in his hands.
 The piano was his soul.
 I watched and wondered
 as he played show tunes
 miles off from rock and roll.
 What he loved he taught me.
 Now music's what I do.
 And often when I'm writing,
 in my hands, Dad's there too.
 If I sing you are the music.
 If I fly you're why I'm put.
 If my hands can find some magic
 you're the one who said they could.
 If the child that's still inside me
 finds a song in empty air.
 When there is joy in making music
 it is you who put it there.
 My dad grew old.
 His hands were numb.
 And now he cannot play.
 I came to visit.
 He sat and asked me
 "How can it be this way?"
 I couldn't find an answer.
 I played this tune for him instead.
 My father sat there smiling
 for he knew what it said.
 If I sing you are the music.
 If I love you taught me how.
 Every day your heart is beating
 in the man that I am now.
 If my ears are tuned to wander.
 If when I reach the chords are there.
 When there is joy in making music,
 it's a joy that we both share.
 I never told you.
 It took time till I could see
 that if I sing you are the music
 and you'll always sing in me.
 Yes you'll always live in me.