Between the mountains, moor and bay,
Within the forest green,
Amid the plain - with every day
The vagabonds are seen.
The roamers, picking out their way
Where do they go - ah, who can say?

These vagabonds, they are the best;
They watch out for their own.
Wand'ring together, cursed or blessed,
All trials and troubles known
In Magnagora, in Celest,
We travel at our own behest.

Oh, yes, these men are friends of mine,
These drifting wanderers,
Some merians who breathe the brine,
And mugwump ponderers.
A Trill, on wings of purest white,
A Human who's sworn not to fight.

If into danger one does go,
His friends are there with him -
Perhaps to death, if just to show
The bond they share within.
The bond that transcends camrad'rie
A bond of perfect clarity.

Beyond friendship and kinship too
The bond of which I speak
Is oft what other men pursue
Within their lives so bleak -
For their survival they do stand
Beside each other, through the land.

Amid the vagabonds we see
No racism or hate.
The aslarans and krokani
Gladly accept their fate.
Thrown together by winds of chance,
Twirling in a delightful dance.

For vagabonds, race matters not,
Nor residence, nor past
Your past transgressions, they will blot
If with them you are cast.
For elfen, orclach, furrikin -
It matters not, you're welcomed in.

For sages, thinkers, dreamers too
Ponder a world of peace.
Their gazes cast far from the few
With whom all hate has ceased.
Forever looking to the sky
Hope that Celestia, on high

Will hear their clarion call for love
And heed their plea for calm.
They hope Celestia above
Will quell the blood-soaked storm
Looking too high, they do not see
These men, who from their bonds are free.

Those vagabonds, worthless they seem,
Just...lurking everywhere.
And yet, they chase a greater dream
Than any others dare.
For conquest or for for glory, no -
For lives of freedom, winds that blow.