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"