Fogs rollin in off the east river bank
Like a shroud it covers bleeker street
Fills the alleys where men sleep
Hides the shepherd from the sheep
Voices leaking from a sad cafe
Smiling faces try to understand
I saw a shadow touch a shadows hand
On bleeker street
A poet reads his crooked rhyme
Holy, holy is his sacrament
Thirty dollars pays your rent
On bleeker street
I head a church bell softly chime
In a melody sustainin
Its a long road to caanan
On bleeker street
Bleeker street