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538 FGrape Ape šF2015/04/16(–Ψ) 03:05:03:34 ID:???0 ?2BP(666) 
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.