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 Barkley 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 nightingale sang in Barkley 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, 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 Barkley Square. This heart of mine beat loud and fast like a merry-go-round in a fair. For we were dancing cheek to cheek, and a nightingale sang in Barkley Square. When dawn came stealing up all golden blue to interrupt our rendezvous, I still remember how you smiled and said, was that a dream or was that the truth? Our homeward step was just as light as the tap-dancing feet of a stand. Like an echo far away, a nightingale sang in Barkley Square. I know cause I was there that night in Barkley Square. I know cause I was there that night in Barkley Square.