Down the corridors laid with tapestries covered in crystalline
Hear the lamentations of the Pure, the Divine
Cascading the elegant torches of fire on the walls
Cobble stones and cornerstones
built to be fortified in the views of us all
through the court yard
looking up the walls
Cascades the gorgeous silk hos-ta vines
Shrubberies and Trees
All cut and maimed into the folklore’s greatest characters
All to appease
With every breath you take
With every sunrise viewed
You can see why this is a palace and not just a place
in the mist it shall not seemed skewed
In the court of the Crimson King
dancing, twisting, wrapping
The Jester with his frills and folly
Performs his pirouette of many colours
A foul and his art with many flutters
In the corner of the Crimson King
stands, writing, peering
The Friar with his quill and holly
Scripting his mandrels of many verse
A poet and his paper signing to a deadly curse
On the throne of the Crimson King
sits, lounging, yawning
The Princess with her filigree and flair
Paying no attention to anyone
A lady and her posture
With not a care
Silently we peer in on the palace halls
Still hearing the lamentations of the souls call
don’t forget what you saw here
For the palace stands as a monolith
A spire stabbed in the heart of a village
For such beauty can never bring sacrilege
We feast with the dogs as they like our wounds
But we shall eat in the court of the crimson king
Oh so Very soon
With fork and knife
On plate of silver
We shall dance and write and lounge
In the folklore of the greatest characters