• Under the moonlight,

    The Nightingale sings her mournful songs

    The stream flows gently while the mountains sleeps,

    Flowers bent down their heads to the majestic silver rays of the moon

    Oh how the night seems so eerily good.



    Oh how the moon wishes the Nightingale would see

    How he smiles at her,

    How much he loves to hear her songs every night,

    How much he wishes "If she was mine".



    The Nightingale kept singing the everlasting blues

    The beautiful melodies strikes the night with every tune

    Oh how the moon wants her to look at him,

    And wish if "He was mine".



    The moon waited and waited every night

    For her to look at him and smile

    He wanted her to sing only for him

    But did he know he would never be seen?



    The Nightingale wounded by the ruthless Falcon shed blood of pain

    Her sweet little feathers gone dull, her voice no more heard.



    The Nightingale disappeared the following night

    She laid down on the grass and looked sad in every sight

    Neither she sang nor she looked

    At the mournful weeping moon,

    All she could do is look at the stars

    Who looked back at her with sad stares

    She took her last breathe and passed away

    Never to be seen the following day.



    The moon wept and mourned at her death

    He remembered how she sang every day

    Now the night seemed so drearily grey

    He looked around in dismay.



    The midnight came and the moon waited

    Expecting her to return to him

    No one came but the lonesome wind,

    It flew pass the moon, far away.



    So he stopped waiting and tried to smile

    And pretend he didn't need a friend

    He smiled and looked at the other side

    And waited for another lonesome night.