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 houseBefore 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