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King Crimson
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The court of the crimson king
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Letra actual de la canción
The rusted chains of prison moons <br />Are shattered by the sun. <br />I walk a road, horizons change <br />The tournament's begun. <br />The purple piper plays his tune, <br />The choir softly sing; <br />Three lullabies in an ancient tongue, <br />For the court of the crimson king. <br /> <br />The keeper of the city keys <br />Put shutters on the dreams. <br />I wait outside the pilgrim's door <br />With insufficient schemes. <br />The black queen chants <br />the funeral march, <br />The cracked brass bells will ring; <br />To summon back the fire witch <br />To the court of the crimson king. <br /> <br />The gardener plants an evergreen <br />Whilst trampling on a flower. <br />I chase the wind of a prism ship <br />To taste the sweet and sour. <br />The pattern juggler lifts his hand; <br />The orchestra begin. <br />As slowly turns the grinding wheel <br />In the court of the crimson king. <br /> <br />On soft gray mornings widows cry <br />The wise men share a joke; <br />I run to grasp divining signs <br />To satisfy the hoax. <br />The yellow jester does not play <br />But gentle pulls the strings <br />And smiles as the puppets dance <br />In the court of the crimson king.
Letra nueva de la canción
The rusted chains of prison moons <br />Are shattered by the sun. <br />I walk a road, horizons change <br />The tournament's begun. <br />The purple piper plays his tune, <br />The choir softly sing; <br />Three lullabies in an ancient tongue, <br />For the court of the crimson king. <br /> <br />The keeper of the city keys <br />Put shutters on the dreams. <br />I wait outside the pilgrim's door <br />With insufficient schemes. <br />The black queen chants <br />the funeral march, <br />The cracked brass bells will ring; <br />To summon back the fire witch <br />To the court of the crimson king. <br /> <br />The gardener plants an evergreen <br />Whilst trampling on a flower. <br />I chase the wind of a prism ship <br />To taste the sweet and sour. <br />The pattern juggler lifts his hand; <br />The orchestra begin. <br />As slowly turns the grinding wheel <br />In the court of the crimson king. <br /> <br />On soft gray mornings widows cry <br />The wise men share a joke; <br />I run to grasp divining signs <br />To satisfy the hoax. <br />The yellow jester does not play <br />But gentle pulls the strings <br />And smiles as the puppets dance <br />In the court of the crimson king.
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