Bill Hicks
January 20, 1943 - November 11, 2018
| The Hobo's Last Letter While walking one day down the bowery Drinking without any cares I happened upon a common old bum Who had fallen down 3 flights of stairs His coat was all ragged and tattered The hair was white on his head He gave me a letter with his dying breath And these were the words that it said... I was standing on a streetcar back in Frisco Waiting for the light to change from red to green When a thought came through my head About the time we went to bed Underneaeth the western stars of Abilene You know a lot of things get hazy when you wander Days go by like boxcars in the night But some day I know I'll find Just a little peace of mind And when I do I'll find you to make it right. I'll be home in the morning when the sun is comin' up And the rooster's singin' wake up to a thousand buttercups There'll be pigs in the pen, and turkeys in the woods I'll be home in the morning, dear, for good. It's 20 years ago that bus pulled out for Denver We were standing in the station holding hands Then we finally said goodbye and I stood and watched you cry And I asked myself how you could understand You know I've been alot of places since that Sunday And some things I done just don't mean a thing But one thing I know is true Lord I'll get back home to you This old bird can't stay forever on the wing. I'll be home in the morning when the sun is comin' up And the rooster's singin' wake up to a thousand buttercups There'll be pigs in the pen, and turkeys in the woods I'll be home in the morning, dear, for good. Well I folded up the letter I was reading 'Cause some things are just too personal to tell And I gave it to the cop who was standing at the top Of the stairs where that poor old bum had fell He hadn't had the time to put her name upon it And his hand had shook so bad his name was blurred But it looked alot like mine So I'm callin' you this time To say I'll be home in the morning, dear, for good. I'll be home in the morning when the sun is comin up And the rooster's singin' wake up to a thousand buttercups There'll be pigs in the pen, and turkeys in the woods I'll be home in the morning, dear, for good. |
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