Golden wrappers line the floor,
I lock the door, recline some more.
The big hand reaches six o'clock,
I gently knock upon the lock.
Elements of earth and fire,
I do admire the angel's lyre.
Golden arrows pierce the tarp,
My blade's are sharp, I steal the harp.
The last wish of a dying djinn,
Clad in green I take the queen.
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