Riding east-bound freight train, stealing through the night

He was just a lonesome hobo who was fighting for his life

The sadness in his eyes revealed the torture of his soul

as he raised a weak and weary hand to brush away the cold



Outside the rain is falling on that lonely boxcar door,

but the little frame 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



He was a lonesome hobo



No warm lights flickered 'round him no blankets were there to fold

There was nothing but the howling wind and the driving rain so cold

As he heard a whistle blowing in a dreamy kind of way

the hobo seemed contented for he smiled there where he lay



It was early in the morning when they raised the hobo's head

the smile still lingered on his face, though Hobo Bill was dead

There was no one there to weep for him or soothe his weary soul

for he was just a hobo who had died out in the cold



He was a lonesome hobo