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The Court Of The Crimson King (BBC Radio Sessions, 1969)
par
King Crimson
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Paroles
The earth is captive to the moon Some seek the rising sun I walk the road on wings of change The game has just begun The purple piper plays his tune The choir softly sing Three lullabies in an ancient tongue For the court of the crimson king, aah Aah, aah The burnt-out-ash suburban men 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, aah Aah, aah Aah, aah Aah, aah The gardener plants an evergreen Whilst trampling on a flower I chased the wind of a prism ship To taste the sweet and sour The pattern juggler lifts his hand; The orchestra begin As sparks fly from the grinding wheel In the court of the crimson king, aah Aah, aah 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, aah Aah, aah Aah, aah
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