Morning Glory کے بول

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