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.

Earth, stream and tree encircled by sea Waves sweep the sand from my island My sunsets fade Field and glade wait only for rain Grain after grain love erodes my High weathered walls which fend off the tide Cradle the wind To my island Gaunt granite climbs where gulls wheel and glide Mournfully glide o'er my island My dawn bride's veil, damp and pale Dissolves in the sun Love's web is spun, cats prowl, mice run Wreathe snatch-hand briars where owls know my eyes Violet skies Touch my island Touch me Beneath the wind turned wave Infinite peace Islands join hands 'Neath heaven's sea Beneath the wind turned wave Infinite peace Islands join hands 'Neath heaven's sea Dark harbour quays like fingers of stone Hungrily reach from my island Clutch sailor's words, pearls and gourds Are strewn on my shore Equal in love, bound in circles Earth, stream and tree return to the sea Waves sweep sand from my island From me Beneath the wind turned wave Infinite peace Islands join hands 'Neath heaven's sea

Now in this faraway land Strange that the palms of my hands Should be damp with expectancy Spring, and the air's turning mild City lights and the glimpse of a child Of the alleyway infantry Friends, do they know what I mean? Rain and the gathering green Of an afternoon out of town But, Lord, I had to go Trail was laid too slow behind me To face the call of fame Or make a drunkard's name for me But now this better life Has brought a different understanding And through these endless days Shall come a broader sympathy And though I count the hours To be alone's no injury My home was a place by the sand Cliffs and a military band Blew an air of normality