Hobo Bill's Last Ride

Riding on the eastbound freight train, speeding through the night Hobo Bill the railroad bum was fighting for his life The sadness of his eyes revealed the torture of his soul He raised a weak and weary hand to brush away the coal No warm lights flickered round him, no blankets there to fold Nothing but the howling wind, the driving rain so cold When he heard a whistle blowing in a dreamy kind of way The hobo seemed contented for he smile there where he lay Outside the rain was falling on that lonely boxcar door But the little form of Hobo Bill lay still upon the floor As the train sped 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 the hobo's head The smile still lingered on his face but Hobo Bill was dead There was no mother's longing to soothe his weary soul For he was just a railroad bum who died out in the cold