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