I lit my purest candle close to my window
Hoping it would catch the eye
Of any vagabond that passed it by
And I'm waiting 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