Come lose your mind in Central Park
 But don't leave your soul behind
 Come take in 8th street after dark
 Such peculiar people you'll remark
 You might even see a murder
 And all the whores on Bleecker Street
 They wear the blissful grin
 Caused by the drugs they take
 To relieve them of their sins
 And "oh lord I think she's dying"
 I heard somebody say
 I think she's dying
 And "oh oh lord I think she's dying"
 Or maybe she's already dead
 and maybe she's gone to Mars
 Maybe we could even write
 her epitaph in the stars
 It'd say "If you go away from here...
 If you go a million miles..."
 Come downtown to see them go
 Into the den of the vampires of New York
 But please watch your step
 as you're getting off, kids