The Holy Land

THE HOLY LAND
Brother if you are weary and worn, there's a light in the window for thee
out on the docks where the battery roughs and Magdelene's daughters roam easy and free
at the Sportsman's Hall 273 Water, Kit Burns is the man with the still and the pit
and he'll take you're hard scratch for the odds on a match in a house full of vice, fifth, and spit
and the night lights shine on the Water Street bricks
we danced hand and hand down the East River strand
and the whiskey flowed like the Tigris though the Holy Land
the rats come flying out the gate, 100 if there is 1
and the dogs are dropped in to the roar and the din of the crowd who like killing for fun
they swarm and they gnash and make a good play but the terriers win in the end
and the winner kisses the bloody snout of the hound for he's surely mans best friend
and the night lights shine on the Water Street bricks
we danced hand and hand down the East River strand
and the whiskey flowed like the Tigris though the Holy Land
the good are always the merry, so at John Allen's dancehouse next door
where the sailors they rest on a woman's breast with broken hearts as they cleave to the shore
and the music would play and the people would sway and they'd feel it in the deep heart core
still the priests and the paper's all called him a lecher and the wickedest man in New York
and the night lights shine on the Water Street bricks
we danced hand and hand down the East River strand
and the whiskey flowed like the Tigris though the Holy Land
I have heard the words of Henry Bergh and petitions to the throne of grace
but a man who lives pious and waits for messiahs is all that much more of a waste
for this former world is the only world with its crying its joy and its death
so I'll wipe my own tears and live for the flesh all lousy with drink on my breath
and the night lights shine on the Water Street bricks
we danced hand and hand down the East River strand
and the whiskey flowed like the Tigris though the Holy Land