| Disc 1 | ||||||
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| 1. |
| 7:21 | 
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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 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. |
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| 2. |
| 6:05 |
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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. |
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3. |
| 8:47 |
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The wall on which the prophets wrote
Is cracking at the seams Upon the instruments if death The sunlight brightly gleams When every man is torn apart With nightmares and with dreams Will no one lay the laurel wreath when 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 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 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 When 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 Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying crying crying Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying crying |
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| 4. |
| 12:13 |
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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. |
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| 5. |
| 9:25 |
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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 want outside the pilgrim s door With insufficient schemesThe black queen chants the funeral marchThe cracked brass bells will ring To summon back the fire witch To the court of the crimson king The gardener plants an evergreen Whilst tramping on a flowerI 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 grey mornings windows cry The wise men share a joke I run to grasp divining signs To satify the hoax The yellow jester does not play But gently pulls the strings And smiles as the puppets dance In the court of crimson king -
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