Inside the forest calm and deep,
Where we have nests,
And moths have leafs,
He found, he felt delighted,
Oenone his love pure, unrequited.
His love won't last,
Black feathered dress,
She worn to grow her wings,
Was part of our Queen's debris.
Crowsongs will reverberate,
Our crowing will resound.
Less sorrow than every dime,
It's becoming a singing time.
Exiled by the pain,
destroying her name.
Focused on love he forgot,
That his origin was being with moths.
Crowsongs will reverberate,
Our crowing will resound.
Less sorrow than every dime,
It's becoming a singing time.
