The nightingale sings in the shadowed gloom
A voice that haunts the winter room
All hearts are drawn, as if by fate
To gather where the silence waits

Her voice, like glass — a marble clear
So still, so sharp, it stings the ear
If I could name that fragile grace
I'd lock it in a crystal case

On yonder hill, the birds reply
And fae folk chant beneath the sky
The trickster stole the cellar's gold
And so the tales of joy unfold

A walking dream, the journey back
Where truth and fiction twist and crack
In twilight's fog, my soul did sway—
And there I saw her, pale as day

Oh, nightingale beneath the moon
You sing, and hearts are drawn too soon
We chase your song into the night
To catch the stars before first light

That smile you wear—too bright, too wide
Yet still I long to dance inside
Though danger glows in every glance
Let's twirl into a fae-born trance

The wanderer walks, the seeker roams
Through ancient woods, away from homes
In dreams he hunts a realm so rare—
A world not here, but somewhere there

Where worlds align and visions breathe
And dreamers hide their grief beneath
The castaways of time and care
Now find the threads that bind us there

Oh, nightingale, let the world now sing
Enchanted by your offering
We gather still, as shadows wane—
Do you long to see the end of rain?

(
Those hollow days, you always knew,
Still, I'd give my soul to you
If all I am were yours tonight—
Would we become the tale in flight?
)

Who is it that spins the fairytale thread?
The bard? The dreamer? The voice of the dead?