Woorden: Rosaline. A Constant North. The White City.

Few and far are my beliefs
Three short, three long, three short again. The ghost escaped but we saw his face.
It hangs above his head until he throws it to the ground (altering the whole thing) the city's knees are bent down.
And he'll still recall what he still has to say. Few and far are my beliefs. We can tear open the archives today. Few and far are my beliefs. Few and far are my beliefs. Few and far are my beliefs.
The ghost escaped but we saw his face.
Party like it's 1893, A celebration like it's 1893, a certain feel of urgency.
It hangs above his head until he throws it to the ground (altering the whole thing) the city's knees are bent down...