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
Printer Friendly Version
