The dance of the puppets   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