Morning Glory
Composer(s): Larry Beckett; Tim Buckley
Performer(s): Tim Buckley
Covered by various other artists



I lit my purest candle 
close to my window 
hoping it would catch the eye 
of any vagabond who had passed it by 
and I waited in my fleeting house 

Before he came 
I felt him drawing near 
Asked him in 
I felt the ancient fear 
that he had come to my door and jeered 
and 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 
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 'cause 
it's too hard a climb 
and he walked away from my fleeting house 

Then you'll 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 

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