Well after all the jacks are in their boxes
And the clowns all gone to bed
You can hear happiness staggering on down the street
Foot prints dressed in red
The wind whispers Mary
A broom is drearily sweeping
Up the broken pieces of yesterday's life
Somewhere a queen is weeping
Somewhere a king has no wife
And the wind it cries Mary
The traffic lights they turn to blue tomorrow
And shine as if they hurt down on my bed
The tiny island stay down stream
'Cause the life that lived is dead
The wind screams Mary
Will the wind ever remember
The names it has blown in the past
And with this crutch its old age and its wisdom
Its wisdom knows this will be the last
The wind cries Mary
