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Fog's rollin' 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 cafe Smiling faces try to understand I saw a shadow touch a shadow's hand On Bleecker Street A poet reads 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 sustaining It's a long road to Canaan On Bleecker Street
