Saxon – Court Of The Crimson King

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 ancient tongue

For the court of the Crimson King

The keeper of the city keys

Puts shutters on the dreams

I wait outside the pilgrims door

With insufficiant schemes

The black queen chants the funeral march

The cracked brass bell 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 chased the wind of a prism ship

To taste the sweet and sour

The pattern juggler lifts his hand

The orchestra begin

I slowly turn the grinding wheel

In the court of the Crimson King

On soft grey 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