In a small town where all knew all, wondered a peasant lady nobody knew,nBut her only friend was a young boy, brought her hot tea and leftover stew,nIn those burnin' wintry Decembers, he'd pick dirty pennies up off the cold street,nAnd while his mother was out Christmas shopping, he'd say, Come on in, warm your feet.nAs long as you share with me stories, so she spoke on the product of war,nMy mother never knew who she could be, as my father lay drunk on the floor,nAnd she spoke of the cart that she wheeled, had keys with no locks, and guitars with no stings, and a puzzle that could never be finished,nBut this is my home, and these broken things are...nnBut the boy went on to be taught in the schools, to not talk to strangers and don't feed the fools,nGrew older and further and over-forgot, as she was forced to move from lot to lot to lot,nnShe said, I guess it was much in his nature to become an Enforcer of Law,nMy old friend's got a gun to protect me from the rock-tossing drunks from the bars.nOh, he seemed like the sort to help others, so I'll find him while he's on the beat, and say 'Remember me, I'm the old lady you'd give the pennies you found on the street?'nnWhen she found him she saw not the young boy who dug for the roots of her junk,nShe came face-to-face with a stern, vacant soldier, grinning and spinning a club,nHe said, Don't you know that you can't be here? You'll hurt buisness and scare away the kids. Go wander around in some other town; get out or I'm taking you in.nnBut officer, I fondly remember you - young boy who would give me the leftover stew, would take me inside to the warm fire coals, and those hundreds of pennies bought me all these clothes.nnIt's against the law to peddlenIt's against the law to eatnIt's against the law to have nothing more than the shoes full of holes on your feetnAnd now they've put bars across the park benches, so I guess it's illegal to sleepnnThey buried something inside of you, OfficernInto your cold heart, dig deepnAnd you'll see that it's menAnd here I'll be, nothing new to menI'll be heartbroken and cold, frozen and alonenMy coffin was a dumpster and I didn't even knownnBut while out on the beat, he looked down to the street, and he saw a dirty penny heads up at hid feetnAnd it made him think of an old tall-tale of an old woman who pushed 'round a cart,nAnd the boy who fed her and helped her, knew he shoulda deep in his heartn...But where did he hear that old tall-tale?nBut hey, what a story to spreadnSo he told it to his own growning boy, once in a while before bed