Riding on an eastbound freight train speeding through the night   Hobo Bill a 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 cold   No warm lights flickered around him no blankets there to fold   Nothing but the howling wind and the driving rain so cold   When he heard a whistle blowing in a dreamy kind of way   The hobo seemed contented for he smiled there where he lay   Outside the rain was falling on that lonesome 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