The Phoenix sings its song,
sweet music flows along,
as through the cool, brisk morning air it flies,
with plumage of bright red
and gold, in wings wide spread,
a rising sun across the pale dawn skies.

A tail that glitters gold,
and gleaming talons hold
great strength and beauty pure that never dies.
With passion can it feel,
through mourning does it heal,
with pearly tears shed from its shining eyes.

Consumed by flames, on fire,
still singing at its pyre,
sweet melodies in death, the Phoenix cries.
But from the ashes black,
young life anew comes back,
the Phoenix is reborn, again to rise.