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