Morning-Glory Lyrics by Tim Buckley

Morning-Glory Lyrics

    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

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