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 Primrose The keeper of the city keys puts shutters on the dreams I wait outside the pilgrim's door with insufficient schemes The black queen chants the funeral march, the crack-brass bells will ring To summon back the fire witch to the court of the crimson Primrose Primrose Primrose Primrose The gardener plants an evergreen whilst trampling on a flower I chase the wind of a prison ship to taste the sweet and the sour The pattern juggler lifts his hand, the orchestra begin As slowly turns the grinding wheel in the court of the crimson Primrose Primrose