I once met a vagabond.
With a torn coat, the beard curly and rough like a goat.
He came from a land of miserable suffering. Spreading the dark will of his Lord:
"Hear and pass by lower creatures. I'm here in the name of my Lord. None can cloud my face. No one sees me coming. Sinking ships, destroying legions. Under my feet buildings are becoming deserts and entire cities my new regions.
I am the converter of worlds."
Stubborn and old, the wanderer stood there now and said nothing.
In the comfort of seclusion we were connected.
Cause the vagabond was me.