Willy was a poor boy,
he wore second-hand clothes.
Willy was a mother’s son
workin’ alone so hard.
He had not father but
it would not matter if he had.
Willy had a brother,
he too was never corrupt.
They stayed in an old cabin,
sometimes they called it a “Pub”.
Willy had no money but
he wouldn’t be different if he had.
The gang he was in
had nothing to laugh.
Yet cops could not knock out
the light in their hearts.
Willy had a light and
that indeed mattered much.
Willy loved a girl,
she always slept in a park.
She was young and was burnin’
and her fire belonged only to Willy.
Willy gave her all and more
and he was rich in her love.
That’s the tale of Willy.
It’s not a long one, you know.
But somehow his story
is the bravest one in the world.
Yes, Willy was living and
I hope you do it too.
Lyrics & Music: Michel Montecrossa, © Mira Sound Germany