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 ut 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 gently pulls the strings

And smiles as the puppets dance in the court of the crimson king