On a foggy день ,
Following the light ,
Running far away .
There was a little car ,
Driven by two children ,
Made out of plastic and gum ,
With a fake license number .
And the car was the product
Of one’s imagination,
It was the guide through the forest
Of his life’s interpretation.
And the forest was dark
And hunted by Волки ,
Full of tears and pain
And of smiles went to vain.
And this kid was an orphan,
Slowly rushing through life ,
Searching for his mother ,
Waiting to be held tight.
He is Остаться в живых and scared ,
Yet unstoppable ,
Cause all his life he’s spent
Walking through that forest.
We ain’t all lucky and rich
или have families.
The truth is we only have ourselves,
To make our own journies.
This orphan’s an example
For those who don’t know ,
That that forest is the rode
We all have to go on .
