The moon is in the gutter
And the stars wash down the sink
I am the king of the blues
I scrape the clay off my shoes
And wade down the gutter, gutter 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.