Hobo Bill's Last Ride

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Riding on an eastbound freight train speeding through the night  
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Hobo Bill a railroad bum was fighting for his life  
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The sadness of his eyes revealed the torture of his soul  
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He raised a weak and weary hand to brush away the cold  

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No warm lights flickered around him no blankets there to fold  
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Nothing but the howling wind and the driving rain so cold  
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When he heard a whistle blowing in a dreamy kind of way  
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The hobo seemed contented for he smiled there where he lay  

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Outside the rain was falling on that lonesome boxcar door  
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But the little form of Hobo Bill lay still upon the floor  
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As the train sped through the darkness and the raging storm outside  
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No one knew that Hobo Bill was taking his last ride  

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It was early in the morning when they raised the hobo's head  
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The smile still lingered on his face but Hobo Bill was dead  
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There was no mother's longing to soothe his weary soul  
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For he was just a railroad bum who died out in the cold