Fog's rolling off the East River bank
Like a shroud
It covers Bleecker Street
Fills the alleys where men sleep
Hides the shepherd
From the sheep
Voices leaking from a sad cafe
Smiling faces
Trying to understand
I saw a shadow touch a shadow's hand
On Bleecker Street
The poet reads his crooked rhyme
Holy, holy
Is his sacrament
Thirty dollars pays your rent
On Bleecker Street
I heard a church bell softly chime
In a melody sustaining
It's a long road to Canaan
On Bleecker Street
Bleecker Street