Fogs 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 say 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 sustained'
It's a long road to Canaan
On Bleecker Street
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Copyright © Андрей Фоменко, 2000.