The Dying Hobo

This is not my own work. This is a song my grandfather used to sing. I have looked for the lyrics on the Internet and there are several different versions but none is exactly like this. This is my grandfather's version of the song. The Dying Hobo Down by an empty water tank one cold November day, and in an open boxcar the dying hobo lay. His comrade stood beside him with low, descended head and listening to those last words the dying hobo said: Goodbye, old pal; I'm going now where everything is bright, where the handouts grow on bushes and they sleep out every night. The dying hobo's head drooped low; he sang his last refrain. His comrade stole his shoes and socks and skipped on an east-bound train.