Lyrics Tim Buckley – Morning Glory

I lit my purest candle close to my
Window, hoping it would catch the eye
Of any vagabond who passed it by
And I waited in my fleeting house

Before he came I felt him drawing near
As he neared I felt the ancient fear
That he had come to wound my door and jeer
And I waited in my fleeting house

«Tell me stories,» I called to the Hobo
«Stories of cold,» I smiled at the Hobo
«Stories of old,» I knelt to the Hobo
And he stood before my fleeting house

«No,» said the Hobo, «No more tales of time
Don’t ask me now to wash away the grime
I can’t come in ’cause it’s too high a climb»
And he walked away from my fleeting house

«Then you be damned!» I screamed to the Hobo
«Leave me alone,» I wept to the Hobo
«Turn into stone,» I knelt to the Hobo
And he walked away from my fleeting house