[00:00.00] 作曲 : Fripp/LAKE/Giles/McDonald/Sinfield
[00:27.27]The rusted chains of prison moons
[00:30.75]Are shattered by the sun
[00:34.05]I walk a road horizons change
[00:37.56]The tournament's begun
[00:40.95]The purple piper plays his tune
[00:44.34]The choir softly sing
[00:47.88]Three lullabies in ancient tongue
[00:51.18]For the court of the
[00:52.26]Crimson King
[01:20.43]The keeper of the city keys
[01:23.70]Puts shutters on the dreams
[01:27.27]I wait outside the pilgrims door
[01:30.57]With insufficiant schemes
[01:34.23]The black queen chants the funeral march
[01:37.50]The cracked brass bell will ring
[01:40.98]To summon back the fire witch
[01:44.16]To the court of the
[01:45.48]Crimson King
[03:34.08]The gardener plants an evergreen
[03:37.29]Whilst trampling on a flower
[03:41.04]I chased the wind of a prism ship
[03:44.46]To taste the sweet and sour
[03:46.29]The pattern juggler lifts his hand
[03:51.24]The orchestra begin
[03:54.90]I slowly turn the grinding wheel
[04:27.48]In the court of the
[04:27.84]Crimson King
[04:28.14]On soft grey mornings widows cry
[04:30.63]The wise men share a joke
[04:34.08]I run to grasp divining signs
[04:37.59]To satisfy the hoax
[04:40.95]The yellow jester does not play
[04:44.28]But gently pulls the strings
[04:47.73]And smiles as the puppets dance
[04:51.06]In the court of the
[04:52.29]Crimson King

作曲 : Fripp/LAKE/Giles/McDonald/Sinfield
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