EnglandKing Crimson

Artist rating: 80.42 % (ranking: not set)
Highest rating: 84.22 % (1969)
Most recent trend: 77.55 % (1974)
Highest trend: 89.20 % (1969)

Albums
Songs (A-Ö)

Statistics

Data

Formed: 1969-01-13

Formed 53 years ago
 

External links

Members

Adrian Belew, Bill Bruford, Boz Burrell, Mel Collins, David Cross, Robert Fripp, Michael Giles, Gordon Haskell, Greg Lake, Tony Levin, Andy McCulloch, Ian McDonald, Jamie Muir, Peter Sinfield, Ian Wallace, John Wetton

Genres

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
1970
72.90 %
1970
79.50 %

In the Court of the Crimson King

King Crimson - In the Court of the Crimson King
94.18 %
(2012-06-12)
Release date: 1969-10-10
Type: studio
Genres:

In collection: CD (2004-02-09)
 
Average song length: 08:47
Average song rating:

Ranking

King Crimson:
1
/
7
Year (1969):
2
/
49
Decade (1960's):
2
/
204
Overall:
15
/
2642

Tracks

Credits

Band members

Robert Fripp
electric and acoustic guitars
Michael Giles
drums, percussion, backing vocals
Greg Lake
lead vocals, bass guitar
Ian McDonald
saxophone, flute, clarinet, bass clarinet, Mellotron, harpsichord, piano, organ, vibraphone, backing vocals
Peter Sinfield
lyrics, illumination

Producers

Lyrics

21st Century Schizoid Man
07:23
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
06:07
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
08:48
The wall on which the prophets wrote is cracking at the seams
Upon the instruments of 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

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

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
12:13
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
09:23
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
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