A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square sing and play along

When true lovers meet in Mayfair,

so the legends tell, songbirds sing,

winter turns to spring, ev'ry winding street in Mayfair falls beneath the spell.

I know such enchantment can be,

'cause it happened one evening to me.

That certain night, the night we met,

there was magic abroad in the air.

There were angels dining at the Ritz,

and a nightingale sang in *Berk'ley

Square. I may be right, I may be wrong,

but I'm perfectly willing to swear that when you turned and smiled at me a a nightingale sang in Berk'ley

Square.

The moon that lingered over London town,

poor puzzled moon, he wore a frown.

How could he know we two were so in love?

The whole darn world seemed upside down.

The streets of town were paved with stars;

it was such a romantic affair.

And as we kissed and said "goodnight,"

a nightingale sang in Berk'ley

Square. How strange it was, how sweet and strange.

There was never a dream to compare with that hazy,

crazy night we met, when a nightingale sang in Berk'ley

Square. This heart of mine beat loud and fast like a merrygoround in a fair,

for we were dancing cheek to cheek and a nightingale sang in Berk'ley

Square.

When dawn came stealing up all gold and blue to interrupt our rendezvous,

I still remember how you smiled and said,

"Was that a dream or was it true?"

Our homeward step was just as light as the tapdancing feet of Astaire.

And like an echo far away,

a nightingale sang in Berk'ley

Square. How Square.

I know 'cause I was there that night in Berk'ley Square.