King Crimson album cover

inside of album

The Court Of The Crimson King

Robert Fripp/Michael Giles/Greg Lake/Ian McDonald/Peter Sinfield

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.

Take a trip without leaving the farm. Spin a King Crimson album, put your circa 1971 Koss headphones on and enjoy the ride.