After all the jacks are in their boxes and the clowns have all gone to bed You can hear happiness staggering down the street footprints dressed in red and the wind it screams mary
A broom is drearily sweeping up the broke pieces of yesterdays life says Somewhere a queen is weeping and Somewhere a king has no wife And the wind it wispers Mary
The traffic lights turn blue tomorrow and shine emptiness down on my bed The tiny island sags on down the stream 'cause the life that lived is dead And the wind it screams Mary And the wind it cries Mary
Will the wind ever remember the names it has blown in the past with its crutch, its old age, and its wisdom it whispers no, this won't be the last And the wind cries Mary And the wind cries Mary
