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 gutter 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