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 

"And someday I'm gonna give up this drinkin' 

But then maybe someday I'll win the lottery too 

Then I'll go back home to old Wexford Town 

And paint her 40 shades of blue"