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 Tim Buckley - Morning-Glory Lyrics

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
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'Leave me alone,' I wept to the Hobo
'Turn into stone,' I knelt to the Hobo
And he walked away from my fleeting house