Interpret:

King Crimson

Album:

In The Court Of The Crimson King

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. 


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. 


On soft gray 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 gentle pulls the strings 
And smiles as the puppets dance 
In the court of the crimson king.