Lyrics

Back in the Hakuna Matata jungle, Simba grew up happy and carefree, loving his new life. Every day was one long party, and life got no better than this. His days were spent playing and eating and hanging out with his jungle friends. And his nights were spent talking with his friends and sleeping. Hakuna Matata seemed to have that effect on the jungle; he was sure even frogs couldn't go without croaking "Hakuna Matata!" Simba had also grown in size, resembling his father more than anything. He had inherited his father's reddish mane, though it had bеcome less refinеd and more scruffy. Years of running, climbing, and pouncing had given him the exercise he needed. As for what to eat, he did eat grubs like the other jungle animals, but when Timon and Pumbaa weren't missing him, he would go out to the desert and catch prey...the biggest being the size of a hare. Timon, Iris, and Pumbaa did their best to teach him how to go through life; even Bunga helped him learn how to fight, being a tough and crafty teacher in spite of being smaller. Timon taught him about life in the jungle, and Pumbaa was his teacher when it came to stealth. In spite of his appearance, the warthog was a surprisingly good hunter, sneaking up on vultures for the guineafowl's eggs. With a smile, Simba remembered the first time Pumbaa brought him egg-hunting. At first, Simba didn't heed Pumbaa's training and charged at the first vultures, confident that he had this in the bag. But the vultures had taken off, leaving a disappointed Simba behind on the ground. "They're loud and ugly, but they're not stupid," Pumbaa had said. "You just gotta catch them off guard." After that, Simba decided to heed Pumbaa's advice some more. Pumbaa had scared the vultures away by screaming, as well as Iris sneezed by accident, making the vultures abandon the guineafowl's egg. So the next time the vultures came back, Simba tried the same, only one rule is coming, and he had learned that his growl was getting deeper. This time the vultures were scared off, leaving two big white eggs from the guineafowl behind. "Good job," Pumbaa had said when Simba got it right this time. "We hit the jackpot. Now let's go home." Home. Home now meant the clearing that he shared with the other animals, not Pride Rock anymore. Simba was more than happy to call this place home as well. One day, it was a warm and dry morning in the jungle. The sun was partially blocked by the leaves and branches of the trees, leaving the temperature comfortable. It seemed that in this jungle, water never ran out, and the trees stayed green all year round. Any animal that wanted to pass through did pass through with little to no trouble, and those who wanted to stay had stayed. A bongo antelope was grazing near the river's edge, flicking his tail. It had been a peaceful morning for him so far, and he liked it that way. He thought that he heard something slowly approaching him, from the bushes on the other side of the river. When he was sure that there was nothing, he began to drink from the river, though he still kept his eyes peeled. Suddenly, a lion burst out from the undergrowth, jumping across the river and growling with fangs bared. The bongo screamed in terror and started to run off. But when the lion didn't chase him, he looked back. It was just Simba, now a fully-grown lion in the flesh. He was jumping up and down on his hind legs, soaked front paws batting at passing butterflies. "Ha! I'm gonna get you! I'm gonna get you!" Simba cheered like a cub, trying to swat at the butterflies. "Well, I almost got you. I'll catch you later!" He turned around and noticed the bongo standing there, and he gave the antelope a grin. "Hey there. Did you see that? I almost caught a butterfly!" "Simba?" The bongo sighed with relief. "Whew! It's just you. I'm glad it's you and not a real lion." Simba perked his ears, curious. "Uh," the bongo stammered, realizing his mistake, "I don't mean to say you're not real. I mean, you are real. It's just..." More silence followed. Simba and the bongo stared at each other. "...yeah, I'm gonna go," said the bongo. "Nice seeing you, Simba." He sprang away, across the river and through the tall grass. "Hey, where you going?" Simba called after the antelope. "You wanna get some grubs?" But the bongo did not reply, for he had disappeared from sight. Simba frowned. He didn't even get a chance to ask the antelope to have a snail-eating contest; he had already beaten Timon and wanted to try it on someone else. "What's up with that guy?" he wondered aloud to himself. Then again, Simba had seen the way the antelope looked at him. The other animals in the jungle had been scared of him when he was a cub, but over the years, they began getting used to him. The bush baby and the elephant shrew were no longer scared of a yawn turned into a roar, sharpening his claws on a tree no longer frightened the Guinea fowl into squawking for their lives, and baring his teeth now invited Bunga to playfully tussle with him. Yet it was moments like what had happened with the bongo reminded him that he was still a lion at heart. Even more obvious was how much he had grown up. He was definitely the biggest animal in the jungle now, even though he was not the tallest (that belonged to some of the antelope). Like his father Mufasa, Simba had a reddish brown mane around his neck, though his mane was not as refined and groomed as Mufasa's had been. His teeth and claws had definitely grown sharper due to scratching and biting branches and bark to sharpen them. Not far away, Timon and Pumbaa had been watching him. They had seen the interaction between their lion friend and the bongo, so they decided to help him out in their own way. "Uh...Simba? How can I say this without sounding like a jerk?" Timon began, sauntering over to Simba. "He's prey. And a guy like him is never gonna wanna frolic with a guy like you. You know, you being a carnivore and all." "You guys hang out with me. Some of the antelope and Guinea fowl are pretty friendly too," replied Simba, walking alongside them to their favorite termite picnic. He would always literally look down to Timon when they talked, but he could look down to Pumbaa now. "And you're all okay with me now. So what's the deal?" As they walked, Timon jumped up onto Pumbaa's head, riding the rest of the way like this. "You see, kid...in nature, there's a delicate balance." Simba frowned at that, recalling Mufasa teaching him about life in the Pride Lands. He hadn't thought about his father in a long time, or any of the things that Mufasa had taught him. There was one lesson, however, that had stuck to him like burrs on his fur, on the day he was shown the kingdom. "Oh yeah, it's the Circle of Life," he replied, shaking off the sad feeling. "I know about that." To his surprise, Timon and Pumbaa only laughed out loud. Simba was confused; did they know about the Circle of Life or not? Once they reached the termite mounds, where the other jungle animals had gathered, they began to talk. "What circle? There's no circle of life," Timon explained once he stopped laughing. He scraped at the termite mound with his claws, rustling up some grubs. "I don't know where you got the circle from. In fact, it's the opposite." "Yeah," added Pumbaa. "And our lives got better for it." Timon looked away from his meal and looked down to Simba and Pumbaa. "You see...there's a straight line. It's the start of the Line of Meaningless Indifference. And as our big buddy Pumbaa here is gonna demonstrate," he added, giving Pumbaa a nod and patting his snout, "we all run on it with paralyzing fear." With a cry, Pumbaa raced towards a tree, scaring the Guinea fowl foraging at its roots. The Guinea fowl squawked and fluttered up to the lowest branch, giving Pumbaa a sharp reproachful stare. Pumbaa didn't notice, having bumped his snout hard against the trunk. "See? That's what life is," said Timon, satisfied that he was getting his point across. "It's a meaningless line." "Of indifference," Pumbaa added, rubbing his snout with a hoof. "The Line of Meaningless Indifference. We all run from the start of the line to the end. And one day, we'll reach the end of the line. That's about it." Timon nodded. "Right you are, buddy. You can really just...do your own thing and take care of yourself, since your line won't affect anyone else. You're alive, and then you're not. Like this fella," he added, taking a bite out of a fat grub. "You guys sure it's not a circle?" Simba asked, munching on a few grubs. He was pretty sure that it was a circle. With a deep breath, he hauled himself up the termite mound and murmured the same words his father had told him: "We're all connected in the great Circle of Life." But that just confused the duo even more. "You're not making any sense!" Pumbaa cried. "A circle would mean that what I did matters to everyone else. Like when I hit that tree. That would have to matter to Bunga or Daabi or Bhati - " "Or the grubs we're eating. Either way, it's ridiculous. Our business is our business," Timon added, waving a paw dismissively. "And if you keep going in circles, that would make doing whatever you wanted not cool," added Pumbaa. Timon nodded again. "Exactly. In simple terms, life is meaningless," he concluded. "That's why you gotta look after yourself. You do you. But that's enough of that." He dusted his paws, wiping away any dirt that had gotten on them. "Today, Simba, we're entrusting you to decide what we can all do today. This is important." "Think about it, buddy," Pumbaa urged. "Remember all you learned." Simba climbed up to the top of the termite mound, thinking it over. Now that his friends said it, following a line did sound more reasonable than following a circle. In a circle, there was too much worrying; a line, on the other hand, just lead to not much worrying. When Simba didn't answer right away, Timon pressed, "Well? What do you wanna do today?" Up to this point, there wasn't any guessing to what they were going to do. "Absolutely nothing?" Simba asked. The duo's eyes flashed, and they grinned at each other. He was finally getting it, they thought happily. The other animals seemed to join in, watching and waiting as Simba perched on top of the termite mound. "Go on, Simba," Bhati called out. "So the straight line leads to..." "Absolutely nothing!" cried Simba with the attitude of a playful cub. And with a push of his powerful front paws, he smashed open the termite mound. As the grubs and termites fell to the ground, the other animals cheered happily and ran over to gobble up the treats. Simba smiled before running over to join them, lapping some up with his tongue. At least a line of not caring much sounded better than a circle of caring too much. The jungle was very peaceful at night. A day of doing nothing could take a lot out of someone, and it was time to top it off with more nothing. So Simba rested with Timon, Pumbaa, and Bunga in the middle of their clearing, relaxing under the stars as they appeared in the night sky. Not much sound came from the jungle at night, nothing except night bird noises and crickets chirping. And then, out of nowhere, Simba let out a big belch. "Whoa!" Timon remarked with a chuckle. "Nice one, Simba." "Thanks," Simba said with a grin. "Man, I'm stuffed. Must've been the termites." "Or the crickets," Pumbaa added. "I ate like a pig!" Simba snickered. "Pumbaa, you are a pig." "That ain't nothing," Bunga added with a smirk. "Check this out." He thumped his chest with a paw and let out a big belch. It wasn't as loud as Simba's, but it was still impressive. Simba and Pumbaa congratulated the honey badger, while Timon muttered with a grin, "Sheesh, and it's no wonder I sleep underground." They spent a few minutes playfully arguing who could burp the loudest before deciding to just watch the stars. All four animals took a deep sigh and leaned back against the cooling grass, looking to the sky. "Hey, Timon," Pumbaa said, looking over at the meerkat. "When you look up to the sky at night, you ever wonder what those sparkly dots are up there?" Timon scoffed softly. "Pumbaa, I don't wonder; I know." "Oh." Pumbaa blinked and gave Bunga a look, which was returned by a scoff. "What are they?" "They're fireflies," guessed Timon, gesturing to the sky. "Fireflies that, uh...got stuck up on that big bluish-black thing." Pumbaa nodded in understanding. "Oh...gee. Guess that makes sense. I always thought they were balls of gas burning billions of miles away." This time, Timon rolled his eyes. "Everything comes back to gas for you, doesn't it? Bunga, what do you think they are?" "Grubs," was all Bunga grunted. He had found some grubs crawling under the log he was resting on before digging in. Then three pairs of eyes darted to the one who made no comment: Simba. He wasn't sure how to respond to all this. It sounded almost similar to what Mufasa told him years ago. "What do you think they are, Simba?" Timon questioned the lion. "Well..." Simba stalled a bit before shaking his head. "I don't know." At this, the three others sat up and started asking him to, Pumbaa pleading. They even told him that they had already guessed theirs. Finally, Simba gave his response, keeping his eyes on the stars. "Somebody once told me that the great kings of the past are up there, watching over us." "Really?" Pumbaa asked. His tone, to some, could mean either curiosity or a teasing tone. "You mean a bunch of royal dead guys are watching us?" Timon added. And then, he, Pumbaa, and Bunga started laughing. Their laughs split the night, drowning out the cricket noises. Timon rolled around, Pumbaa clutched his sides, and Bunga banged the ground with a paw as they all laughed. Only Simba didn't really join in this time. "That's a good one!" Pumba chortled. "That's insane!" "You ain't kidding! Who told you something like that, Simba? What kind of mook made that up?" Timon rasped from the laughing. "Seriously, buddy, be real! Why would those 'kings' want us? We're outcasts!" "Yeah...it's pretty dumb, huh?" Simba replied with a weak chuckle. Still, he still couldn't help but feeling sad. He knew that Timon and Pumbaa meant no offense or harm, but this just stirred up bad memories, of the life he had left behind and whom he left behind. But the two weren't finished. What they said next even got his fur bristling. "Royal dead guys! Hopefully, they don't fall out of the sky!" Timon cackled, slapping his knee. "Hold on, Your Majesty!" "Yeah, hold on! Don't let go now!" Pumbaa chortled. That was when Simba gave them a snarl, shutting them up. He usually liked their antics, but this was one that he didn't like at all, especially since it brought up his past. It even reminded him of one time when Timon almost fell over a waterfall when the crocodiles try to eat him, with Simba almost being too paralyzed with horror to save him. He had saved Timon, but he was still rattled by the event; it had reminded him of how Mufasa died. With a sigh, Simba rolled onto his paws and left the clearing. "Sorry, guys. I gotta go," he called over his shoulder. "Gonna get some grubs or something." As soon as Simba left, Timon and Pumbaa shared uneasy looks, the meerkat guilty and the warthog confused. "Was it something I said?" Timon asked. "Yeah, it was. Both of you," Bunga growled. The honey badger had looked up from eating from his collection of honeycomb and bee larvae. "Hey, I'm not blaming you for that. That was one heck of a show you pulled." Timon and Pumbaa shared guilty glances this time. They hadn't meant to be like that to Simba, and what Bunga said made them feel even worse. "Gee...we didn't mean to hurt his feelings," Timon said. "Just wanted to laugh, have some fun." "How about we make it up to him tomorrow?" Pumbaa suggested. "We'll look for his favorite treats." "I got a better idea than that," replied Timon. "We'll go out into the jungle tomorrow and look for his favorite treats." Pumbaa grunted with confusion at Timon taking credit for his idea before merely nodding. That was what they were going to do tomorrow: looking for Simba's favorite grubs to eat. Meanwhile, Simba arrived at the edge of the jungle, looking up to the night sky. He wasn't really angry at Timon and Pumbaa for what they said, and he wasn't angry at himself. If he was being honest...he felt sad. Memories of his life at Pride Rock, from playing with Nala to messing with Zazu and even to spending time with his parents, had kept him from fully enjoying the Hakuna Matata lifestyle. Yet everyone at Pride Rock would probably forgot about him anyway. The lionesses would be hunting, Zazu would be reporting the news to his mother, Scar would sulk as usual, and Nala would have moved on to a new playmate. Simba was sure that Mufasa's voice was rattling at the back of his mind, only faintly. While Timon and Pumbaa were happy to do nothing all day, the voice kept telling Simba that he had to get up and do something. Yet he wasn't sure what to do. He wanted Mufasa to somehow appear beside him, to advise him and comfort him. You promised you'd be there, Dad, whenever I needed you, Simba thought, feeling his eyes prickle with tears. I just need to hear your voice. One word, just a word, will do. But no one answered him. Simba groaned with disappointment and wiped the tears away. It was nothing after all. The great kings of the past weren't real. They were just fireflies stuck up on a big bluish-black nothing. With a sigh, Simba flopped down onto the ledge, his weight blowing milkweed floss away to the wind. All of the jungle animals, Timon, Pumbaa, and the girls (Iris, Serena, and Valerie) begin to build the windmill. When the windmill was finished, there was a whoosh from the thunderstorm until the windmill stayed untouched. Suddenly, the thunderstorm not only hit the windmill but hit the trees in the jungle instead. Iris dashes like a roadrunner and explains to the girls and animals about the damage. "Guys! Over here! Do you know who is responsible for this? Do you know the enemy who has come in the night and overthrown our wildlife? SCAR!" she suddenly yelled like a peacock in a voice of thunder. "Scar had done this thing! On sheer malignity, thinking to set back our plans and avenge himself for his ignominious expulsion, this traitor has crept here under cover of night and destroyed our trees for nearly a year. Guys, here and now I pronounce the destruction upon Scar. We must have a multitude of polar bears and a large flock of vultures for any animal who brings Scar to justice. A full multitude to anyone who captures Scar alive! There is work to be done. This very morning we begin growing the trees with wildlife instead of the windmill, and we will grow all through the winter, rain or shine. Remember, guys, there must be an alteration in our plans: they shall be carried out to the day. Long live the tropics! Long live the wildlife! Long live North America!" Tamino sat at the highest branch of her baobab tree, watching the land below her turn to ruin. Dark days were indeed upon the Pride Lands. Sadly, there was nothing Simba could do about it. When Simba refused to allow Scar to dismantle the Pride Lands' borders, Scar had him banished from Pride Rock. The wind ruffled her long neck and the black and white feathers on her wings; however, in the dry season, the hot wind brought no relief. But something felt odd about the wind as if the spirits were telling her something. Tamino reached her wing up and snatched some milkweed floss from the wind, and then she took a sniff of them. Her hunch was right; there was an odd but familiar feeling about this. Getting an idea, Tamino jumped down from her perch and reached the center of the baobab, where she did her work. She grabbed an orange juice bowl which she used to mix herbs into remedies and dropped the floss in it. As she rolled them together in the bowl, she hummed to herself before deciding to grab a peck to eat. A little snack will never hurt anybody, she thought as she pulled over a fruit and split it open. So as she casually used her long tongue as a giraffe and ate, she tried studying the pattern, wondering what this all added up to. Suddenly, her eyes widened as the sign became clearer. She took a closer look at the floss...it couldn't be. But that was when she looked up and strained her eyes on the painting of Simba. "...Simba?" she asked herself in amazement. The sign was even clearer now. That was why the wind blew the floss over; the great kings of the past were telling her something: good news. Her heart filled with a rapture of sorts when she realized the truth. "He's alive..." she squawked, joy and hope starting to revitalize her peacock feathers back to normal. "He's alive! By the kings of the past, he's now alive! In the jungle!" She wildly laughed, squawked, and hollered with joy as she ran to dip her fingers in reddish paint before running back to the painting of Simba. With loud laughter of joy and tears streaming down her long neck, she painted a new addition to the painting: a mane. "It is time!" Tamino declared. She lifted her eyes up to the blue sky and prayed, "Thank you, spirits, thank you so much! Simba lives! Bless my journey to find him and bring him home." With that, she started to gather traveling herbs, her falconry, and her staff, preparing for her journey.