Fairport Convention - 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
As I waited in my fleeting house

"Tell me stories, " I called to the hobo
"Stories of cold, " I smiled to the hobo
"Stories of old, " I knelt to the hobo
And he stood before me at 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

Written by:
Larry Beckett, Tim Buckley

Publisher:
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

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