Epitaph

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!

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,
if 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...

Confusion will be my epitaph...

ΣΥΓΚΡΟΤΗΜΑ: King Crimson
ΔΙΣΚΟΣ: In the Court of the Crimson King (1969)

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