As the moon swells from still waters below
The sky turns a dark indigo
Yet another calm night has granted us rest
And blest are those who soundlessly sleep
Then as the little ones begin counting their sheep, The Nightingale sings

Oh, you think how ethereal and divine is her lullaby
So sweet to the ears it makes the angel's cry
More tender than that of an infant's eye
Compared to her song there is no tie
Listen to that enticing voice behind her miniscule disguise

Note after note you snooze into a peaceful slumber
One by one, you're out in numbers
Then when there is none, the Nightingale's deed is done
But who is to sing to the Nightingale... none

Silent is the air, and still she is awake
It unsettles her, reminding her that no one is there to comfort her
Unease in her, concerning her, her sanity is now at stake
Stirring in her bosom is a void, so she cries out to the night
The moon and the stars are her only audience
But they are only audible by sight

“Ah!” She belts out intervals of loneliness
But you are too wrapped up in your own dreams to notice
Pity is the party and silence is its hostess
The octaves in her voice are what she so desperately holds the closest

Oh, you think how ethereal and divine is her lullaby
But the melody is so estranged it makes the angel's cry
Her pleads are more delicate than that of an infant's eye
Compared to her song there is no tie
Now listen to that sad voice hidden behind her miniscule and beautiful disguise