Lyrics

Simba had no idea how long he walked after that, but he was very tired by the time he was out of the Pride Lands. The sun had come and gone several times, but he didn't stop even when he reached the borders. He had only two goals in mind: get away from the Pride Lands, and lose the hyenas. He limped on until he reached the desert, an area he had never been to before. This was nothing like the Pride Lands, which were lush and green during the wet season; instead, it was a dry and desolate land, with never-ending sand and sweeping dunes in sight. He limped on through the desert, feeling more tired and pained the more he trudged on. At last, Simba could take it no more, and he collapsed. He wasn't sure how far he had walked, but he was sure that he had limped a pretty good distance. While he lay there, he began thinking. His stomach was empty, yet his mind was full, making it hard to rest. Images flashed through his mind: his father falling into the stampede, and his uncle condemning his actions in starting said stampede. Then another image flashed, one that made his already dry eyes burn with tears: his mother's reaction to Mufasa's death. He could also see her sadness turn to anger toward him once she figured out that he was the one who did it. His ears echoed with what Sarabi would roar at him: that she hated him, wanted to never see him again, and wished that Simba had died instead. He definitely could never go back. But there would be no returning anyway, even if he wanted to. Wanting to or not, he was going to die in the desert. Suddenly, the sounds of vultures screeching reached his ears. Indeed, vultures were circling above him, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop down. Simba wanted desperately to make a run for it, but he couldn't. He was too tired to limp on, too hungry and thirsty to move. Maybe I should rest, he thought, tucking his legs in. Just for a little bit. And then...I don't know what to do anymore... While he closed his eyes, he could hear the vultures coming closer and closer, wings flapping and beaks squawking. This time, he did not fight back as he blacked out. When the lion cub collapsed, the vultures knew that they were getting free meat. It was all alone in the desert, lost and hungry and thirsty. He was so thin that one could see the ribs poking out of his now-dull golden fur. The vultures landed beside the unconscious lion cub, ready to settle down with a meal. Suddenly, a yell and a brown blur caused one of the vultures to look closer at the blur. A grayish-brown warthog came shouting and charging at them, headbutting any birds unlucky enough to still stay on the ground. Besides the warthog, a meerkat jumped down from the warthog's back, yelling at the vultures and trying to smack them with his paw. Then, a brown girl with purple hair came from Unova (in Asia where she tamed tigers and peacocks). Her name is Iris. The vultures got the message. They lifted off from their soon-to-be meal and flew away, leaving behind nothing but dust and feathers. "I love this game!" Iris cheered once all of the vultures were gone. "Catching the Vultures! I told you our first round wouldn't hurt, Timon!" "Yeah, you told me. Gets 'em every time!" the meerkat named Timon chuckled, dusting off his paws. "Any eggs there? I'm telling ya, Pumbaa, they're best when the vultures pop 'em out!" The warthog named Pumbaa put his nose to the ground, sniffing and snorting. "No, I don't see or smell any eggs. But I'm gonna get one of those vultures again one day. You'll see! I'm gonna get one!" Timon snorted. "Yeah, sure, when you fly. When did you get the habit of chasing them anyway?" "It makes me feel better," replied Pumbaa. This meerkat and warthog duo, whose names were Timon and Pumbaa, had quite a history together. They had met only a few months ago, yet they were inseparable. One wouldn't usually see one without the other, whether they ate their favorite meal or relaxed the day away. Most of all, they liked having fun, every day being one long party for them. "Uh-oh." Iris said watching the horror and tragedy. She had found a small golden mound of fur where the vultures had gathered. "Hey, Timon, you better come look. I think it's still alive." "Alive?" Timon piped up, looking curious. "Looks like a fur coat to me. And it looks like it's just my size!" Pumbaa tilted his head to the side. "But what if it's someone else's fur coat?" "Forget them. What about me?" Timon scoffed, walking up to the fur coat. "I'm a naked meerkat! I'm gonna need it for those chilly nights. And I'm pretty sure that this fuzzy coat is just the thing we need. So okay, what do we have here?" The meerkat sniffed the body, his front paws feeling around for a heartbeat. He bent down and lifted up the creature's heavy front paw, and he yelped when he saw its face. "JEEZ, IT'S A LION!" Timon suddenly shrieked, running for a rock. "Run, Pumbaa, run! It's a lion!" Pumbaa took a closer look at the cub, his eyes full of sympathy. "Come on, Timon, it's just a little lion!" "It gets bigger!" Timon called back. "But look at him," Pumbaa protested, turning back to see the lion cub. The cub looked frail and thin as if he had lived his entire life in the desert. "He's so cute and all alone!" "Oh yeah, he's cute," Timon snapped, his voice full of sarcasm. "Nothing says cute like a five-hundred-pound monster that can suck my blood out!" "No! I think lions are found in the zoos of America," said Iris looking at Timon and Pumbaa. Pumbaa looked around, looking for the cub's parents. Once he saw that no one was coming for him, he turned back to Timon, a pleading look on his warty face. "Can we keep him?" At this, Iris began yelling like a peacock, "Pumbaa, ARE YA NUTS?! You're talking about a lion! Lions eat guys like us!" "Come on, I promise I'll take care of him!" Pumbaa pleaded. "I can take him out for walks, I can clean up his messes - " "One of his messes being you once he eats you!" Timon retorted. "And then he'd use my body as a toothpick! Plus, you can't have a pet! Remember that beetle you brought back home?" They could both remember that. One time, Pumbaa had wanted a pet to bring home, so he ended up "adopting" a beetle. It didn't last long, however, as it had accidentally ended up being in his dinner. "That was an accident. And some of my friends are carnivores, you know. Not all carnivores are bad," Pumbaa said. Ignoring Timon saying that at least those carnivores didn't hunt them, the warthog continued, "Hey, once he gets bigger, what if he's on our side?" This only made Timon laugh. "Hahaha! That is the stupidest thing I've ever - hey. Wait a minute." His eyes grew bright, and a smile started to come to his face. "Once he gets bigger, what if he's on our side?" he asked, taking credit for Pumbaa's idea. "You know - and hear me out, my porcine pal - having a lion around might not be a bad idea after all." Pumbaa's tail shot up like a flag, and he bent down to gently scoop the cub onto his tusks and snout. "So we're gonna keep him?" Timon ran over to climb onto Pumbaa's back. "Yes, of course, we're gonna keep him. Who's the brains of this outfit?" Pumbaa tried to think, but Timon already said, "My point exactly. Boy, I'm feeling fried. Let's get outta here and find some shade." So they went off to the nearest oasis, Pumbaa chanting, "We're gonna name him Fred!" Iris transformed into a penguin using her animal transformation tool. The first thing Simba felt was something wet splashing on his face. It felt too warm to be actual water. He had also heard voices as he woke up, but these voices were unfamiliar. When he opened his eyes, he took in his surroundings. The desert was behind him, and he was resting in a small oasis, a small clump of tropical trees, and a pool of water. He also saw that he wasn't alone now. Instead, a meerkat and a warthog were watching him with concern. The warthog was, anyway. The meerkat, in the meantime, looked torn between concern and wanting to flee. He had been the one to splash some water onto his face to wake him up. The meerkat tilted his head. "You okay, kid?" "I-I guess so," Simba stammered. "You nearly died," the warthog said. "I saved you," bragged the meerkat. The warthog snorted at him, and he retracked, "Well, he helped...a little. So yeah, we're the guys who saved your life. Risked everything too, fighting angry vultures!" "Hordes of them! Flocks!" the warthog reminded the meerkat. "Anyway, my name's Pumbaa. And this is my best buddy, Timon." But Timon was already caught up in his story. "Oh yeah, there were a bunch of 'em flocking us. It was horrible. I told Pumbaa 'If we don't make it out, tell Ma and Uncle Max and the folks where I was and that I hoped they weren't disappointed in me'. But we lived to tell the tale and saved you. No need to thank us." When Simba merely stared at him, Timon remarked, "You do know that we saved you, right?" I wish you hadn't. It would've saved everyone the trouble, Simba thought miserably. But all he could say instead was, "Yeah. Thanks." He bent down to lap up the water from the oasis. It was too warm and gritty to fully enjoy, but at least it was enough to leave him quenched. All those times he had complained about being at the watering hole flashed across his mind, and he now wished he appreciated the watering hole more. He wished he was back there, playing with Nala and splashing around in the shallow end. Once he finished drinking, he turned his back on the trio and started walking away, back out into the desert. His paws felt like they were stepping on glass, and his belly growled in protest about the lack of food. "Hey, where you going?" Timon called after him. "Doesn't matter," was all Simba said. The duo watched him go, sympathy on their faces. When Simba was slightly out of earshot, Pumbaa murmured, aghast, "'Doesn't matter'? How bleak is that?" "Like we don't have enough problems on our plate," Timon muttered. "Gee, he sure looks blue." "I'd say he looks more brownish-gold," said Pumbaa. "No, I mean he's depressed," Timon responded. Sometimes, even though they were best friends, Pumbaa was a little too literal-minded and na�ve about lots of things. "Oh...then we should help him!" Pumbaa left the shade, followed by Timon, until he caught up with Simba. When they sat down, Pumbaa asked Simba, "Hey kid, what's eating you?" "Nothing, he's at the top of the food chain!" Timon chortled. He started laughing out loud, nudging Simba to get him to laugh. "Get it? The food chain!" But Simba didn't laugh or even smile. Even Pumbaa, who was easily amused by jokes, gave Timon a look. This made Timon realize that the joke didn't land well, so he stopped laughing. "So..." Timon cleared his throat. "Where ya from?" "Who cares?" Simba grumbled. "I can't go back." "If you can't go back, little lion," Pumbaa asked, "then is there someone who can take you home?" "And by someone," Timon added, "he means a large hairy beast? A large hairy beast with a mane and razor-sharp claws and teeth?" Simba didn't even shrug. "No. No one will ever find me." Iris replied, "Scar, Schmar. That's the one." "Oh, you're an outcast? That's great; so are we!" Timon leaned back against a rock, saying, "Spill the beans, kid. We love us a good fellow outcast story." "I really love 'em," Pumbaa added, starting to tear up. "They make me cry. I love the ones where an animal falls in a pit and has to eat his own foot." Simba was confused by Timon and Pumbaa. These two seemed very silly to be around, yet they didn't seem to mean any harm. But there was still going to be no way that he would tell them what happened. "So what happened to make you an outcast?" Timon asked. "Were you too small?" Simba shook his head. "Too slow?" Timon guessed again. "Anxious? Aggressive? Envious? Gassy?" "Well, Pumbaa is gassy and I am not! I am Iris with a lovely floral scent." said Iris combing her hair. This almost made Simba smile some more, and he almost laughed at the last part. Timon being determined to guess the answer was a little entertaining. He even started feeling a little better. At least, until Pumbaa sobbed, "I love the stories where the outcast accidentally eats a relative. Well...okay, they weren't really related, the uncle being a beetle and the nephew being a warthog, but...it's so sad!" Any good feeling Simba had vanished with that statement. Did they know that he had killed his father? They could realize that he was Mufasa's murderer and send him back to Pride Rock, to face the anger of pride. But then he realized that he was being paranoid. Timon and Pumbaa were just being silly and guessing; they probably didn't even know about what happened at the Pride Lands. Still, their banter had reminded him of what he had lost, and he didn't want to stick around anymore. So he spun around and began to walk away again. At last, Pumbaa cleared the tears from his eyes, looking almost his perky self again. The two caught up with him again, and Pumbaa asked with concern, "So what'd you do, kid?" "I did something terrible," Simba answered. "I don't wanna talk about it." "There's gotta be something we can do," Pumbaa pressed on. The old Simba would have smiled, thanked them, and told them about the adventures so far. But now, all he wanted was to be away from everyone else. He was a murderer, and he knew that a murderer should not be near anyone. "No," Simba snapped, now feeling irritated. "Not unless you can change the past. Now leave me alone." He started walking away again, but he didn't get far at all. The combination of hunger and thirst made him feel dizzy on his paws. Simba collapsed on one side, and Timon and Pumbaa ran over to help him get back up. Pumbaa gently nudged him to his paws with his snout, and Timon got under Simba and pushed upward. Once Simba was recovering, Timon slipped out and stood in front of him. "Listen, uh...what's your name, kid? I can't keep calling you 'kid' all the time." While Simba didn't want to tell the meerkat his name, he was getting tired of arguing. "Simba," he said. "Right. Simba," Timon repeated, and he rolled the name on his tongue for a bit. "Simba, Simba, Simba...cool name. Anyway, Simba, you were right earlier. No one can change the past. That's a pretty tall order, if I'm being honest." "That there's a biggie," Pumbaa agreed. Timon nodded and got his attention back on Simba. "But we can change the future," he pressed on. "That's our specialty." In spite of himself, this left Simba interested. "You can change the future?" Pumbaa nodded his big head. "We sure can! We can change your future too. It's easy! It's like what my buddy Timon always says: you gotta put your behind in your past!" Then he looked confused as he looked around the desert. "Or behind one of the rocks out here." "No, no, no!" Timon scolded Pumbaa, who looked embarrassed. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on a second!" said Iris. Timon said to Pumbaa, "Amateur. Lie down before you hurt yourself." To Simba, he said, "It's... You have to put your past behind you". "Way behind," said Iris. "Look." Timon said trying to chase a grasshopper. "Bad things happen, and there's nothing you can do about it, right?" "Right." said Simba. "No! WRONG! When the world turns its back on you, you turn your back on the world!" "And only embrace what's next!" Pumbaa added helpfully. Timon nodded. "Exactly. And turn the what into so what?'" Simba narrowed his eyes. He recalled Mufasa telling him about the Circle of Life, how everything was connected, nothing was forgotten, and everyone was important. What Timon and Pumbaa were suggesting, however, sounded like the complete opposite. "That's not what I was taught," he remarked. "Then maybe you need a new lesson," replied Timon, and he cleared his throat. "Repeat after me: Hakuna Matata." "What?" Simba asked. The new words confused him and made his tongue feel tied. "Hakuna Matata." Iris repeated. "It means no worries." "Most people get a bigger reaction when we mention the first place." said Pumbaa. Timon nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I thought everyone knew about it! It's a wonderful phrase!" No worries? Simba thought, baffled. How could anyone live without any worries in their life? Everyone has to have some worries, he believed. "Come on. Let's get to some shade," said Timon. "I'm boiling out here. Come with us, and we'll tell you more about Hakuna Matata." They started heading back to the oasis, and Simba pondered over what it really meant to have no worries. That sounded a lot better than constantly worrying as he had for the past few days. Maybe he could give it a try.