KING CRIMSON: In the Court of the Crimson King (1969)

1. 21st Century Schizoid Man
2. I Talk to the Wind
3. Epitaph
4. Moonchild
5. The Court of the Crimson King

21st CENTURY SCHIZOID MAN

Cat's foot iron claw

Neuro-surgeons scream for more

At paranoia's poison door.

Twenty first century schizoid man.

Blood rack barbed wire

Polititians' funeral pyre

Innocents raped with napalm fire

Twenty first century schizoid man.

Death seed blind man's greed

Poets' starving children bleed

Nothing he's got he really needs

Twenty first century schizoid man


I TALK TO THE WIND

Said the straight man to the late man

Where have you been

I've been here and I've been there

And I've been in between.

I talk to the wind

My words are all carried away

I talk to the wind

The wind does not hear

The wind cannot hear.

I'm on the outside looking inside

What do I see

Much confusion, disillusion

All around me.

You don't possess me

Don't impress me

Just upset my mind

Can't instruct me or conduct me

Just use up my time

I talk to the wind

My words are all carried away

I talk to the wind

The wind does not hear

The wind cannot hear

EPITAPH

The wall on which the prophets wrote

Is cracking at the seams.

Upon the instruments if death

The sunlight brightly gleams.

When every man is torn apart

With nightmares and with dreams,

Will no one lay the laurel wreath

As silence drowns the screams.

Between the iron gates of fate,

The seeds of time were sown,

And watered by the deeds of those

Who know and who are known;

Knowledge is a deadly friend

When no one sets the rules.

The fate of all mankind I see

Is in the hands of fools.

Confusion will be my epitaph

As I crawl a cracked and broken path

If we make it we can all sit back

and laugh.

But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying,

Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying

MOONCHILD

Call her moonchild

Dancing in the shallows of a river

Lovely moonchild

Dreaming in the shadow

of the willow.

Talking to the trees of the

cobweb strange

Sleeping on the steps of a fountain

Waving silver wands to the

night-birds song

Waiting for the sun on the mountain.

She's a moonchild

Gathering the flowers in a garden.

Lovely moonchild

Drifting on the echoes of the hours.

Sailing on the wind

in a milk white gown

Dropping circle stones on a sun dial

Playing hide and seek

with the ghosts of dawn

Waiting for a smile from a sun child

THE COURT OF THE CRIMSON KING
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