As I was out walking on the corner one day,
I spied an old hobo, in the doorway he lay.
His face was all grounded in the cold sidewalk floor
And I guess he'd been there for the whole night or more.
Only a hobo, but one more is gone,
Leaving nobody to sing his sad song,
Leaving nobody to carry him home,
He was only a hobo, but one more is gone.
A blanket of newspaper covered his head,
As the step was his pillow, the street was his bed.
One look at his face showed the hard road he'd come
And a fistful of coins showed the money he bummed.
He was only a hobo, but one more is gone,
Leaving nobody to sing his sad song,
Leaving nobody to carry him home,
He was only a hobo, but one more is gone.
Does it take much of a man to see his whole life go down,
To look up in the world from a hole in the ground,
To wait for your future like a horse that's gone lame,
To lie in the gutter and die with no name?
He was only a hobo, but one more is gone,
Leaving nobody to sing his sad song,
Leaving nobody to carry him home,
He was only a hobo, but one more is gone.