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.