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If it was Wetton, the lyrics would be like
it was the heat of the moment
telling us what your heart meant
the heat of the moment
shown in your eyes
But since it was Sinfield, the lyrics were like
On soft grey 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 gently pulls the strings
And smiles as the puppets dance
In the court of the crimson king.
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