The story of an old man who remembers his young boy Nightingale…he is happy that his son is now famous and successful and tells all passerby’s his son’s tales. But what hurts him is that the same son he is so proud of has never come back to him the old man only longs for that love of his son Nightingale.
Nightingale
Nightingale
I sing everyday
Of how you ran like the wind
Down these hills
Too fast to be stopped
Like a hurricane
O Nightingale
I sit by the fire and tell your tales
~
When I wake up in these cold nights
I imagine your hazel eyes
That burned with desire
Always wanting to go higher
But now you don’t speak to me anymore
This cold silence hurts inside
O Nightingale
Don’t you hear me cry?
~
Nightingale
Why you flew away
Leaving your old man behind
Who’s gone insane
~
Nightingale
What did I say?
That you said goodbye
Never came back again
~
And I still sit there, right there
At the corner of the street, in prayer
And tell them all your tales
Your old man loves your fame
But O Nightingale
Don’t need the lifeless words in pages
Just the love of the boy he named
Nightingale
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