In the south of my city
There's a place we go to fly
A beautiful place to stay

Some friends come to celebrate
A good morning for talking
In a good way to cry

There's a sun rising for anyone
It seems to touch inside
We're blind with opened eyes

And the sentiment is high
High for our highness
The same old sun is rising

We love the way we feel it
We taste champions coffee and we cry
It feels like dying for an instant
We cheer each other crying
We seem to know ourselves deep inside
Like the last day of our lives

The grass smells like morning
The road, the cows, the birds
The green, the sky, the blue

We talk about philosophy
A good morning for talking
Then we freak it out

Sometimes we smoke some cigarettes
Just thinking about the life
Who's the lucky guy?

And the sentiment is high
High for the only highness
The same old sun is rising