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Morning Glory - Tim Buckley



     
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Morning Glory Lyrics


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 houseBefore he came, I felt him drawing near
And as he neared, I felt the ancient fear
That he had come to wound my door and jeer
But I waited in my fleeting house"Oh, tell me stories", I called to the Hobo
"Stories of old", I smiled at the Hobo
"Stories of cold", I wept to the Hobo
And I waited in 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, it's just too high a climb"
And hestood before my fleeting house"Then you be damned", I screamed to the Hobo
"Turn into stone", I wept to the Hobo
"Leave me alone", I knelt to the Hobo
But he walked away from my fleeting house

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Timothy Charles Buckley III (February 14, 1947 – June 29, 1975) was an experimental vocalist and performer who incorporated jazz, psychedelia, funk, soul, and avant-garde rock, in a short career spanning the late 1960s and early 1970s, ending with his death at age 28 from an alcohol-heroin overdose. Buckley often regarded his tenor voice as an instrument, a talent most noticeable on his albums Happy Sad, Lorca, and Starsailor.

Read more about Tim Buckley on Last.fm.


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Tim Buckley