| Titel | Morning Glory |
| Komposition | Tim Buckley, Larry Beckett, 1967 |
| Originalinterpret | Tim Buckley |
| Klicks | 43666 |
| Besprechungen |
Besprechungen
|
| Interpret | Titel | Label/Jahr | Platz |
|---|---|---|---|
| Tim Buckley | "Goodbye And Hello" |
Elektra, 1967 | |
| Blood, Sweat & Tears | "Child Is Father to the Man" | Columbia, 1968 | |
| Linda Ronstadt | "Stone Poneys And Friends Vol. III" | Capitol, 1968 | |
| Fairport Convention | "Fairport Convention" |
Polydor, 1968 | |
| McKendree Spring | "McKendree Spring" | Decca, 1969 | |
| Decameron | "Third Light" | Transatlantic, 1975 | |
| #Deidre Rutkowski, Louise Rutkowski | "Filigree & Shadow" |
4AD, 1986 | |
| Isaac Guillory | "Live" | Personal, 1988 | |
| Tim Buckley | "Dream Letter - Live In London 1968" | Demon, 1990 | |
| Tim Buckley | "The Peel Sessions" | Strange Fruit, 1991 | |
| Tim Buckley | "Morning Glory" | Band Of Joy, 1994 | |
| Iain Matthews | "The Dark Ride" | Watermelon, 1994 | |
| The Skip Heller Generation | "Lonely Town" | Twin/Tone, 1997 | |
| Chrissie Hynde | "Bleecker Street - Greenwich Village In The 60's" | 1999 | |
| Simon Raymonde, Anneli Drecker | "Sing A Song For You (Tribute To Tim Buckley)" | Manifesto, 2000 | |
| Songs To The Siren | "Songs To The Siren" |
E=MC², 2007 | |
| Tim Buckley | "Newport '68" | FM Concert Broadcasts, 2015 |
I lit my purest candle close to my
Window, hoping it would catch the eye
Of any vagabond who passed it by
And I waited in my fleeting house
Before he came I felt him drawing near
As he neared I felt the ancient fear
That he had come to wound my door, and jeer
And I waited in my fleeting house
"Tell me stories," I called to the Hobo;
"Stories of cold," I smiled at the Hobo;
"Stories of old," I knelt to the Hobo;
And he stood before me in my fleeting house
"No," said the Hobo, "No more tales of time;
Don't ask me now to wash away the grime;
I can't come in 'cause it's too high a climb,"
And he walked away from my fleeting house
"Then you be damned!" I screamed to the Hobo;
"Leave me alone," I wept to the Hobo;
"Turn into stone," I knelt to the Hobo;
And he walked away from my fleeting house
Window, hoping it would catch the eye
Of any vagabond who passed it by
And I waited in my fleeting house
Before he came I felt him drawing near
As he neared I felt the ancient fear
That he had come to wound my door, and jeer
And I waited in my fleeting house
"Tell me stories," I called to the Hobo;
"Stories of cold," I smiled at the Hobo;
"Stories of old," I knelt to the Hobo;
And he stood before me in my fleeting house
"No," said the Hobo, "No more tales of time;
Don't ask me now to wash away the grime;
I can't come in 'cause it's too high a climb,"
And he walked away from my fleeting house
"Then you be damned!" I screamed to the Hobo;
"Leave me alone," I wept to the Hobo;
"Turn into stone," I knelt to the Hobo;
And he walked away from my fleeting house