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;
Dont ask me now to wash away the grime;
I cant come in cause its 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

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