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"morning glory" |
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"Tim Buckley" |
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Morning Glory |
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|
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I lit my purest candle close to my |
| [00:19.13] |
Window, hoping it would catch the eye |
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Of any vagabond who passed it by, |
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And I waited in my fleeting house |
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|
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Before he came I felt him drawing near; |
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As he neared I felt the ancient fear |
| [00:49.25] |
That he had come to wound my door and jeer, |
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And I waited in my fleeting house |
| [00:59.47] |
|
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"Tell me stories," I called to the Hobo; |
| [01:10.22] |
"Stories of cold," I smiled at the Hobo; |
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"Stories of old," I knelt to the Hobo; |
| [01:28.03] |
And he stood before my fleeting house |
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|
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"No," said the Hobo, "No more tales of time; |
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Don't ask me now to wash away the grime; |
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I can't come in 'cause it's too high a climb," |
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And he walked away from my fleeting house |
| [01:57.38] |
|
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"Then you be damned!" I screamed to the Hobo; |
| [02:10.31] |
"Leave me alone," I wept to the Hobo; |
| [02:18.97] |
"Turn into stone," I knelt to the Hobo; |
| [02:28.49] |
And he walked away from my fleeting house |