Beneath a cherry tree, an old man sits alone,

The city hums a quiet tune, in rhythms of its own.

A child runs with a paper kite through springtime-colored air,

That smile, those eyes — I’ve seen them everywhere.

Though we speak in different voices,

And the winds blow far apart,

The rhythm of our hearts rejoices,

Same emotions, same old spark.

Love and hope, joy and pain —

It’s the same in every heart again.

The incense burns where people pray, sun glows in dusty streets,

A mother walks with water jars, her steps in ancient beats.

A boy plays flute in traffic’s roar, dreams dancing in the heat,

And in his gaze I see a truth — one we all repeat.

Though we speak in different voices,

And the winds blow far apart,

The rhythm of our hearts rejoices,

Same emotions, same old spark.

Love and hope, joy and pain —

It’s the same in every heart again.

The favela wakes to drumbeats high, the morning full of sound,

Kids chase dreams on dusty fields, no shoes upon the ground.

A girl is dancing in the sun, the music in her veins,

And in her smile I feel it rise — that fire we can't explain.

Though we live in distant places,

And the skies above us change,

We’re all bound by silent traces,

Of something deep and just the same.

Love and hope, joy and pain —

It’s the same in every heart again.

Yes, the same in every heart — again and again.