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 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