But the title track then transitions our hearts out into a wider world, where lessons are never strictly personal, even though they're always learned on the streets of life alone. Those streets are teeming with the victims of decidedly manmade imperfections: old folks abandoned, workers exploited, humans left homeless (a version of Bob Dylan's Only a Hobo) or marched off to die in a war. There's blood on your hands, mister, you'll answer for one day./And the tears you shed on that day won't wash your sins away, Dickens declares, and the only thing that might better express the difference between hey, the world's not perfect and hell, let's get to work is the mixture of tears and anger in her cry.