| The moon is in the gutter
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| And the stars wash down the sink
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| I am the king of the blues
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| I scape the clay off my shoes
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| And wade down the gutter and the moon
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| The moon blinds my eye with opal cataracts
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| As I cut through the saw-mills and the stacks,
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| Leaping over the gully where I would one day take Lucy
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| Then wash up my hands in the gutter and the moon.
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| Such a long way from home, just me and
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| The moon is in the gutter
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| All my plans are flushed down the drain
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| I wander lonely as a cloud
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| Over memories at her mound
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| Then lie down in the bitter gutter moon |