The Court of the Crimson King Lyrics by King Crimson from the A Young Person's Guide to King Crimson album - including song video, artist biography, translations and more: The rusted chains of prison moons Are shattered by the sun. I walk a road, horizons change The tournament's begun. … King Crimson IV (1981 - 1984) 3 albums, same members for all 3 albums Discipline, Beat, and Three of A Perfect Pair. Very different sounding - does not sound like KC at all. Very new wave/talking heads sound. Guitar, Guitar/Vocals, Bass/Stick, Drums - this is the first KC band to start using guitar synths. The Court of the Crimson King Lyrics by King Crimson from the Collector's Club: 1969.7.5 Hydepark album - including song video, artist biography, translations and more: The dance of the puppets The rusted chains of prison moons Are shattered by the sun. King Crimson. The Court Of The Crimson King. Download MIDI Download MP3*. *converted from midi. may sound better or worse than midi. Vm. P. genre. rock. metal. 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 Puts 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 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. Submit Corrections. Thanks to Gordon Dyer for correcting these lyrics. Writer (s): Greg Lake, Peter John Sinfield, Ian McDonald, Robert Fripp, Michael Rex Giles. 7) The Night Watch (1974) King Crimson always had a soft spot for ballads and this is one of their best. With lyrics inspired by Rembrandt’s painting of the same name, Fripp’s resplendent solo – recorded in a single first take – is a thing of beauty, but don’t miss John Wetton’s subtle, exquisite bass detail supporting it. 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 gently pulls the strings. And smiles as the puppets dance. rVOol.