Bleecker Street
Fog’s rollin’ off the East River BankLike a shroud, it covers Bleecker StreetFills the alleys where men sleepHides the shepherd from the sheep
Voices leaking from a sad caféSmiling faces trying to understandI saw a shadow touch a shadow’s handOn Bleecker Street
The poet read his crooked rhymeHoly, holy is his sacramentThirty dollars pays your rentOn Bleecker Street
I heard a church bell softly chimeIn a melody sustainin’It’s a long road to CanaanOn Bleecker Street