Morning Glory - Tim Buckley

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 d**ned 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