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"