Now summer had been no friend to him and fall was looming cold There was a pocket of warm near a j**elry 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 j**elry store, the same old message told Must be a million times, wish hed had a dime for every stop at that shop of gold [Chorus] 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 [Repeat Chorus]