The Court of the Crimson King - Steve Hackett

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 shatters on the dreams

I wait outside the pilgrims' 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

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 doesn’t play

But gently pulls the strings

And smiles as the puppets dance

In the court of the crimson king