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
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
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
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
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
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
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
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
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
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
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
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
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
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
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
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
(Ah-ah-ah)
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As an old rocker who has sang this song on stage a few times...
It always evoked an analogy or multiple double entendre of ...
'The fire in a man's blood as he journeys through the stages of his life'
and that's the way I always sang it and it worked.
The Court = The Body, The Crimson King = The Blood is the ruler of life itself.
Interesting posts as to meanings.
Sorry, to those of you wishing to demonize my generation but we were quite a bit deeper than that ... even when we were all getting stoned together or suffering witches to live :)
Looking forward to hearing the 'real' story.
I agree wholeheartedly on the "most daring debut albums ever recorded", truth is, I discovered King Crimson just recently and could hardly believe what I saw when I found out they did most of their recordings in the early seventies. This was WAY ahead of their time, and as you say, nothing we have today can really compare to it either. Awesome band.
"More significantly, McDonald brought in lyricist, roadie and art strategist Peter Sinfield, with whom he had been writing songs — a partnership initiated when McDonald had said to Sinfield, regarding his 1968 band Creation, "Peter, I have to tell you that your band is hopeless, but you write some great words. Would you like to get together on a couple of songs?" One of the first songs McDonald and Sinfield wrote together was 'The Court of the Crimson King'".