From the recording Bleecker Street


Things get started early when the sunlight hits the windowsill on Bleecker Street.
Unpretentious coffeeshops serve cappuccino piping hot on Bleecker Street.
Grab the latest issue of the Village Voice.
Late for work, you'll read it on the way.
Everyone is heading out, or coming back, or hanging out on Bleecker Street.

Taxicabs are honking horns. Another busy day is born on Bleecker Street.
Older people stop and stare at Villagers with purple hair on Bleecker Street.
Galleries, used record stores, and cheap antiques,
restaurants with an offbeat clientele,
young and old, they're all around. You're sure to see them up and down on Bleecker Street.

I've been all around the nation,
searching for a home where I belong.
Somehow every place I went was wrong.

Man in turban walks a dog while twentysomething tries to jog down Bleecker Street.
Temperatures are on the rise. A hot dog vendor swings at flies on Bleecker Street.
Now it's afternoon. The parks are filling up.
Homeless man discreetly asks for change.
Street musician plays a song, a soundtrack as things move along on Bleecker Street.

(instrumental of two verses)

Living here among the people,
part of a community at last,
no more wandering 'round like in the past.

Nighttime brings a different crowd. The lights are on, the music's loud on Bleecker Street.
Bars are full and clubs are packed. There's lines outside around the back on Bleecker Street.
People come from down the block or far away.
All the same they share a common link.
Something draws them down to here. The reason is completely clear. It's Bleecker Street.