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The rusted chains of prison moons The tournament's begun The purple piper plays his tune The keeper of the city keys 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 To taste the sweet and sour The pattern juggler lifts his hand As slowly turns the grinding wheel In the court of the crimson king On soft gray mornings widows cry The yellow jester does not play But gentle pulls the strings And smiles as the puppets dance (((do not display TEXT in any way shape or form!!!)))
A mystical scene features a grand figure in ornate robes, standing on steps amid celestial bodies and intricate architecture. Surrounding scholars engage in esoteric studies, illuminated by candles.
