The moon is in the gutter And the stars wash down the sink I am the king of the blues I scape the clay off my shoes And wade down the gutter and the moon The moon blinds my eye with opal cataracts As I cut through the saw-mills and the stacks, Leaping over the gully where I would one day take Lucy Then wash up my hands in the gully and the moon. Such a long way from home, just me and The moon is in the gutter All my plans are flushed down the drain I wander lonely as a cloud Over memories at her mound Then lie down in the bitter gutter moon.