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