Bleeker Street

A fog's rolling 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 Bleeker Street A poet reads his crooked rhyme Holy, holy is his sacrament Thirty dollars pays your rent On Bleeker Street I heard a church bell softly chime In a melody sustaining It's a long road to Canaan On Bleeker Street