There are magic clouds floating around in a sky filled with shit, these clouds differ in both color and pace and every man has his mind set on his own. There aren't enough to go around, so it takes a sleigh hand to grab it.
The Dutch prince is nothing but a ghost by now, lavetating inside his soul, searching for answers you can't find on a mountain. And I see him, everywhere, all the time, I can hear the Dutch wolf laughing in every room I enter. But I know that in time, the experience becomes a memory, and memories can easily be forgotten.
And the girl holds me tight...
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