(Verse)
In the heart of a mystical wood,
Where moonlight dances as it should,
A symphony of wings takes flight,
As night descends, soft and bright.

(Chorus)
Birds of every feathered hue,
In a forest where dreams come true,
Gather on the ancient trees,
To sing their tales on the evening breeze.

(Verse)
A nightingale starts the song,
With melodies pure and strong,
Her voice, a silver thread in the night,
Weaves a spell of pure delight.