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Tim Buckley( Timothy Charles Buckley III )
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Morning Glory
Lyricist:Larry Beckett, Tim Buckley
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 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 Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com '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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