Dreams of freedom are flowering
As flimsy illusion withers, pales
Through medium of the bardic tongue the truth doth sing
And in to peripheries of consciousness sails

The merchants of demise are quivering
To hear the lion's stentorian roar
Their callous bodies quivering
They have no time left anymore

Towards new day we meandering go
Borne aloft on divine zephyr
Dreaming, rocking to and fro
Effusing other worldly ether