Morning Glory Tim Buckley
[G]I lit my purest candle [Cmaj7]close to my
[G]Window, hoping it would [Cmaj7]catch the eye
[G]Of any vagabond who [Cmaj7]passed it by
[Am]And I waited in my [C]fleeting [G]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
[D]"Tell me stories," I [C]called [Em]to the [Cmaj7]Hobo;
[D]"Stories of cold," I [C]smiled [Em]at the [Cmaj7]Hobo;
[D]"Stories of old," I [C]knelt [Em]to the [Cmaj7]Hobo;
[Am]And he stood before me in my [C]fleeting [G]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
"Then you 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
Outro:
[D] [C] [Em] [Cmaj7]
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submitted by Hirsch Freeman
comments and corrections welcome at drumbo@geocities.com
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