Oh it's midnight on the Bowery and your feet are soakin' wet

And you've drank your last brass farthin'

You'd sell your soul for a cigarette

And the sounds from CBGB's are comfortin' to you

Then you think of the green fields of Ireland

And you feel 40 shades of blue



Ah you're back on the drink since September

And your head feels like a sieve

And you know that you're goin' from bad to worse

But you just don't give a shit

And the hymns from the Sally Army sound heavenly and true

Then you think of your friends and your family

And you feel 40 shades of blue



Ah you've got a great future behind you

But you're goin' nowhere fast

Just up and down the Bowery from Canal Street to old St Marks

And you wonder what she's up to now

Did she really find somebody new

Ah how the hell could she just walk out like that

On your 40 shades of blue



And you wonder how it came to this

Was it always in the cards

Coz workin' is for idiots

And you love the smell of bars

And the letters that you sent back home

Were full of all the things you'd done

But they don't say you're down there on Bleecker Street

With your hand out on the bum



Now the dawn's comin' up on the Bowery

And you're heartsick and soakin' wet

With your tongue hangin' out for some Irish Rose

You'd sell your soul for a cigarette