Tim Buckley - Morning - Sözleri

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

And as he neared, I felt the ancient fear

That he had come to wound my door and jeer

But I waited in my fleeting house



"Oh, tell me stories", I called to the Hobo

"Stories of old", I smiled at the Hobo

"Stories of cold", I wept to the Hobo

And I waited in 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, it's just too high a climb"

And hestood before my fleeting house



"Then you be damned", I screamed to the Hobo

"Turn into stone", I wept to the Hobo

"Leave me alone", I knelt to the Hobo

But he walked away from my fleeting house



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