Fog’s rollin’ 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 trying to understand
I saw a shadow touch a shadow’s hand
On Bleecker Street
The poet read 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 sustainin’
It’s a long road to Canaan
On Bleecker Street