Hobo Bill Testo

Ridin’ on an East bound freight train, speedin through the night Hobo Bill, a railroad bum, was fightin’ for his life The sadness of his eyes refuels the torture of his soul He raised a weak and weary hand to brush away the coal No one lies flicker around him, no blankets there to fold Nothin’ but the howlin’ wind and drivin’ lane so cold When he heard a whistle blowin’ in a dreamy kind of way The hobos seem contented for he smiled there where he lay Outside the rain was falling on that lonely boxcar door But the little farm of hobo bill lays still upon the floor While the train is through the darkness and the raging storm outside No one knew that hobo Bill was taking his last ride It was early in the morning when they raised a hobo’s head A smile still lingered on his face but Hobo Bill was dead There was no mother’s longing to save his weary soul For he was just a railroad bum who died out in the cold