On a midsummer night did the Oo-oo bird fly,
With wings very great he did soar in the sky,
And then he would utter a beautiful call,
So softly at first, so majestic yet small,
And as he approached you could hear his “Oo-oo”
That wonderful sound that he always would do,
“Oo-oo! Oo-oo!” Such an excellent cry
Which came from a giant bird up in the sky.
His wings were as cotton, his voice was so tender,
His shadow cast over the earth in such splendor,
But then as the storm came, the wind whistled by,
The lightning struck home, and that great bird did cry:
“Oo-oo! Oo-oo!” Then he fell to the ground,
The sound of it echoed for many miles around;
“Oo-oo! Oo-oo!” Such a pitiful cry
Which came from a giant bird up in the sky.
Sometimes the bird haunts us on midsummer nights,
When the red sun is setting to shed its last light,
He searches the earth as if looking to find
That death-blow of lightning that shattered his mind.
Just then is his ominous call again heard,
A cry of despair from that blood-chilling bird:
“Oo-oo! Oo-oo!” Such a mournful cry
Which comes from a giant ghost up in the sky.