Fog's rollin' in 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 café
Smiling faces try 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 way to Caanan
On Bleecker Street


On Bleecker Street