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.