I lit my purest candle close to my
Window hoping it would catch the eye
Of any vagabond that passed it by
And I waited in my lonely house
Before he came I felt him drawing near
And as he neared I felt the ancient fear
That he had come to my door and jeer
And I waited in my fleeting house
Tell me stories
I called to the hobo
Stories of old
I smiled to the hobo
Storie of cold
I wept to the hobo
As 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 for it's too high a climb
And he walked away from my lonely house
Then you be damned
I screamed to the hobo
Turn into stone
I cried to the hobo
Leave me alone
I knelt to the hobo
And he walked away from my fleeting house
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