Have you been to the desert? Have you walked with the dead? There's a hundred thousand children Being killed for their bread And the figures don't lie They speak of human disease But we do what we want And we think what we please
Have you lived the experience? Have you witnessed the plague? People making babies Sometimes just to escape In this land of competition The compassion is gone Yet we ignore the needy And we keep pushing on
I know I wasn’t there, when you needed me the most I know I didn’t care, and was afraid to get so close Tonight it’s getting hard to fall asleep Cause it's becoming clear that I broke all into pieces And I can not reverse it, so I’ve got one more thing to say
I’m sorry for your pain I’m sorry for your tears For all the little things I didn’t know I’m sorry for the words I didn’t say But what I still do I’m still lovin you
And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon for whether we are white or copper-skinned We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains We need to paint with all the colours of the wind
So many times I was alone and couldn't sleep You left me drowning in the tears of memory And ever since you've gone I found it hard to breathe Cause there was so much that your heart just couldn't see A thousand wasted dreams were rolling off my eyes but time's been healing me and I say goodbye
"There is a room in the Department of Mysteries," interrupted Dumbledore, "that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power also saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests. In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you."
You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us? You think we don’t recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself plainly when you have need of him. How else could you produce that particular Patronus? Prongs rode again last night.
And when I’m gone, just carry on, don’t mourn Rejoice every time you hear the sound of my voice Just know that I’m lookin’ down on you smiling And I didn’t feel a thing so baby don’t feel no pain Just smile back
Love is when you miss him even before he leaves when you could listen to him talk all night and never get tired of hearing his voice when the sound of his name will send chills down your spine and you see his smile the second you close your eyes.