The dance of the puppets
The rusted chains of prison moons
Are shattered by the sun
I walk a road, horizons change
The tournaments 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 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

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