It’s all lonesome and he knows only Lord can leave him shot-broke, the whistle wicked and star-falling. The moon’s his rotten train. He knows it does nothing. He knows only wicked pleases. He knows only Lord can leave him loaded. He can please all that nothing. The well does nothing and the yard only falls. When he gets enough he cries there is nothing lonesome. Here he’s alone. Here there’s that much nothing.