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