Tytuł: Morning glory

• Wykonawca: Tim Buckley
• Wyświetleń: 371

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