You don't need me to do the poetry. Peter Gabriel has drawn the scene - the hustlers, homeless and - emerging sheepishly from a subway - our hero, Rael.
There is no way I can imagine that, when they wrote the track, the boys from Genesis did not think of the first Lamb I think of in these circumstances. The Lamb of the title is quite out of place amongst the city landscape. It doesn't do much - it's forgotten after its conjuring up of a wall-of-death in Times Square.
But there amid the city dwellers - folk who never went to an English public school, or even an Ivy League college - the Lamb takes its place. Out of place, out of time, out of all logic, it lies down on Broadway.
It's a different, crowded city. And the prostitutes - more careful than the women on the New York scene - have stopped plying their trade. As the city bustle kicks off in the morning, a man is pushed and shoved through the crowds, carrying a plank of wood. The procession - for he is being led - goes past men who gaze with joy, or who care not. Women who weep. And those who are just getting on with their lives. And they wind through that busy city to a quiet hill, where the plank is raised on a standing post and the man is raised up.
And the Lamb lies down. The perfect one, fathered by God and yet rejected by the ones he is there for. How can one so good, so chosen - so longed-for, for that matter - how can the one who chose this place as the home for his Name, be put to death by those from the Temple they built to praise him? How much out of place is this Lamb, than one that wanders through the early morning New York traffic?
And the Lamb lies down.