Town Crier

Now summer had been no friend to him and fall was looming cold
There was a pocket of warm near a jewelry store sellin things of gold
So he sat himself beneath the sign in the window; it said Well made sold
Jim Weston was a local cop, only 24 years old
Got a call from the jewelry store, the same old message told
Must be a million times, wish hed had a dime for every stop at that shop of gold
But all is well, all is well
All except for the town crier
But hey, hed never tell
You see he cries in his sleep
And lies when he speaks
All is well
So the old man says, Nice to see you, Jim
And Jim smiled cause the whole town knew his name
But he couldn’t recall that of the man who was sittin out in the rain
And his face was flushed with the blood of a heart of shame
You gotta get going old man, this ain’t no place for you
The owners of the shop have complained
The old man pulls himself up and says, Well, thats just the same
Even a warm grate in a slab of concretes no place for a man with no name