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I lit my purest candle close to my window Hoping it would catch the eye Of any vagabond that passed it by And I waited in my lonely house Before he came I felt him drawing near And as he neared I felt the ancient fear That he had come to my door and jeer And I waited in my fleeting house Tell me stories, I called to the hobo Stories of old, I smiled to the hobo Storie of cold, I wept to the hobo As 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 for it's too high a climb And he walked away from my lonely house Then you be damned I screamed to the hobo Turn into stone I cried to the hobo Leave me alone I knelt to the hobo And he walked away from my fleeting house 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 From Letras Mania