The moon moves silent in the starry sky
A fox does bark in the paddock nearby
Familiar in it's wild distinctive cry
Of humans and their dogs it's kind justifiably wary and shy
To lure the fox from their young the masked lapwing take to flight
Their harsh cries pierce the stillness of the night
They know the fox on their young it would prey
The reason they mob it for to send it on it's way
Mopoke mopoke in the silence one does hear
A boobook owl is hunting somewher near
The smaller birds in cover wake in fright
They live in fear of the hunter of the night
In the Moyne Shire a fox is on the prowl
And i hear the cry of a hunting boobook owl.
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