Dream: I was a bluesman in Georgia in the depression, a white-haired black man with a voice like the wind in cornfields. I had a hollow-toned guitar. I sang:

The fire's gone out, ain't nothing left but cold
The fire's gone out, ain't nothing left but cold
Ain't nothing to do but sit and grow old

I knew her face, but I never knew her name
I knew her face, but I never knew her name
I saw inside her burned a white-hot flame

She played so hot it burned my ears
She played so hot it burned my ears
I never felt so fine in all my years

She played all night, she played all night long
She played all night, she played all night long
But in the morning, in the morning she was gone

Lord won't you come, come and take me away
Lord won't you come, come and take me away
All I wanted from this world was yesterday

'Cause the fire's gone out, ain't nothing left but cold
The fire's gone out, ain't nothing left but cold
Ain't nothing to do but sit and grow old