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..