Riding an eastbound freight train, speeding 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 coal
No warm lights flickered 'round him, no blankets there to fold
There was nothing but the howling wind, and the driving rain, so cold
Then he heard a whistle blowin', in a dreamy kind of way
And the hobo seemed contented, for he smiled there where he lay
Outside the rain was fallin', on that lonely boxcar door
But the little form of Hobo Bill lay still upon the floor
And 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 mornin', when they raised the hobo's head
The smile still lingered on his face, but Hobo Bill was dead
There was no one near to weep for him, or soothe his weary soul
For he was just a hobo, who had died out in the cold
