CINA

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The Court of the Crimson King

(King Crimson, 1969)

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.