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- The rusted chains of prison moons
- Are shattered by the sun.
- I walk a road, horizons change
- The tournament's begun.
- The purple piper plays his tune,
- The choir softly sing;
- Three lullabies in an ancient tongue,
- For the court of the crimson king.
- The keeper of the city keys
- Put shutters on the dreams.
- I wait outside the pilgrim's door
- With insufficient schemes.
- The black queen chants
- the funeral march,
- The cracked brass bells will ring;
- To summon back the fire witch
- To the court of the crimson king.
- The gardener plants an evergreen
- Whilst trampling on a flower.
- I chase the wind of a prism ship
- To taste the sweet and sour.
- The pattern juggler lifts his hand;
- The orchestra begin.
- As slowly turns the grinding wheel
- In the court of the crimson king.
- On soft gray mornings widows cry
- The wise men share a joke;
- I run to grasp divining signs
- To satisfy the hoax.
- The yellow jester does not play
- But gentle pulls the strings
- And smiles as the puppets dance
- In the court of the crimson king.
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