| Capo 2 |
| D | G | D | |
| There was a | time, when | lonely men would | wander; |
| A7 | D | |
| Through this | land, rolling endlessly | along. |
| D | G | D | |
| So many | times, I've | heard of their sad | stories; |
| D | A | D | |
| Written in the | words of dead men's | songs. |
| Down through the years, many men have yearned for freedom. |
| Some found it only on the open road. |
| So many tears of blood have filled around them; |
| 'Cause you can't alway do what you are told. |
| Please tell me where, have all the hobos gone to. |
| I see no light a'burning down by the rusty railroad tracks. |
| Could it be, that time has gone and left them, |
| Tied up in life's eternal travelling sack. |
| (spoken) |
| Last Sunday night, I wrote a letter to my loved one. |
| I signed my name and knew I'd stayed away too long. |
| There was a time when my heart was free to wander. |
| And I remember as I sing this hobo song. |
| (cho) |