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
