Morning Glory

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