In The Court Of The Crimson King Lyrics - Greg Lake

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. 

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The keeper of the city keys 

Put shutters on the dreams. 

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. 

The gardener plants an evergreen 

Whilst trampling on a flower. 

I chase the wind of a prism ship 

To taste the sweet and sour. 

The pattern juggler lifts his hand; 

The orchestra begin. 

As slowly turns the grinding wheel 

In the court of the crimson king. 

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On soft grey mornings widows cry, 

The wise men share a joke; 

I run to grasp divining signs 

To satisfy the hoax. 

The yellow jester does not play 

But gently pulls the strings 

And smiles as the puppets dance 

In the court of the crimson king.