THE HOBO . . . TIM BUCKLEY

G                                    Cmaj7                 G                                     Cmaj7 
 I lit my purest candle   close to my window, Hoping it would     catch the eye
G                                              Cmaj7       Am             C                D/3                 G        Cmaj7
  Of any vagabond that might pass it by,   And I waited in my    fleeting house
Before he came I felt him drawing near,  And as he neared I felt the ancient fear
That he might come to wound my door and jeer,  And I waited in my fleeting house
D                                 Am  D/3  G  Em  Cmaj7       AmGD                           Am  D/3  G  Em       Cmaj7      AmGD
  Tell me stories, I called           to      the hobo,             Tales of old, I smiled          to        the hobo
D                                   Am D/3 G  Em        Cmaj7   Am                C                                          D/3          G 
  Stories of cold,  I wept           to      the  hobo,            And he stood before me 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 for it's too high a climb,  And he walked away from my lonely house
Then you be damned I screamed to the hobo,   Turn into stone I cried to the hobo
Leave me alone I knelt to the hobo,  And he walked away from my lonely house
I lit my purest candle close to my window,  Hoping it would catch the eye
Of any vagabond that might pass it by,   And I waited in my fleeting house

*The above file is this author's own work and
represents his interpretation of this well-known
song. This file may only be used for private study,
scholarship, or research.