Mahoney: Now we wait.
Magorium: No. We breathe, we pulse, we regenerate. Our hearts beat, our minds create, our souls injest.

Still I would want to be someone who’d answer to me:
Someone who sees like a child, gives like a saint,
feels like an angel — never mind the broken wings,
and speaks like a picture, cries like the rain, shines like a star,
as long as the fire remains.

I don’t make my shape with your phony lines.
And I know what to look for in a wave.