The Nightingale

Hear, hear, the Nightingale sings

Of a fallen Angel with welded wings.

The sweet song is sweet no longer-

Behold the Nightingale's anger!

The song's been hummed and strummed

On a table fingers drummed

Notes missed and lyrics rewritten:

so many people by this song were smitten:

They made it their own.

With her song the Nightingale, too, has grown-

Till that Angel came by, mocking her song

Singing it oh-so-perfectly along

Not a note missed, not a word changed

Each octave perfectly arranged

Don't you dare take that song from me-

Make it your own precious melody

Sing it shout it

Go anyway about it

Oh live with it the way I do

Let it grow with you-

The Nightingale won't sing tonight

She'll be gone by the morning light

Oh for a land where people have imperfections!

No Angels no false reflections

Onwards, towards the Sea!

A symphony of waves for me!

With the C#-minor scale of a gale:

Another song from, and for, the Nightingale.