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Michael Franti
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Prey To The Conqueror
Those who see not that sword, that?s like unto a thousand suns*
The diffident in arms and unaligned
Who drinking from the poisoned cup of the world illusion
Will ever fall a prey to the conqueror
As an aerolith that shatters the sky
The superior nature shall discern all, above all
The realm of that victory unvanquished
Is that of the shatterers of illusion
While those of the diurnal sleep
Shall ever fall a prey to the conqueror
Conqueror! Conqueror! Conqueror! Conqueror!
A knife in the lotus of Aetas
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