(L. Beckett, T. Buckley)
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I lit my purest candle
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close to my window
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hoping it would catch the eye
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of any vagabond who passed it by
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and I waited in my fleeting house
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Before he came
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I felt him drawing near
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Passing near
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I felt the ancient fear
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that he had come to my door and jeered
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and I waited in my fleeting house
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Tell me stories, I called to the hobo
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Stories of Cold, I smiled to the hobo
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Stories of old, I knelt to the hobo
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and he stood before me
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in my fleeting house.
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No, said the hobo
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no more tales of time
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don't ask me now to wash away the grime
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I can't come in 'cause
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it's too high a climb
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and he walked away from my fleeting house
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Then you be damned
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I screamed to the hobo
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Leave me alone, I wept to the hobo
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Turn into stone, I knelt to the hobo
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and he walked away from my fleeting house
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I lit my purest candle
|
Close to my window
|
hoping it would catch the eye
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of any vagabond who passed it by
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and I waited in my fleeting house
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-----------------
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Morning Glory
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| Blood, Sweat & Tears |
