Letra de The Court Of The Crimson King (BBC Radio Sessions, 1969)
The earth is captive to the moon Some seek the rising sun I walk the road on wings of change The game has just begunThe purple piper plays his tune The choir softly sing Three lullabies in an ancient tongue For The Court Of The Crimson King...The burnt-out-ash suburban men Put shutters on the dreams I wait outside the pilgrim's door With insufficient schemesThe 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 chased the wind of a prism ship To taste the sweet and sourThe pattern juggler lifts his hand The orchestra begin Sparks fly from 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 hoaxThe yellow jester does not play But gently pulls the strings And smiles as the puppets dance In the The Court Of The Crimson King...