After all the jacks are in their boxes And the clowns have all gone to bed

You can hear happiness staggering on down the street

Footprints dressed in red And 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 of blue tomorrow

And shine their emptiness down on my bed

The tiny island sails downstream Cause the life that lived is Is dead

And the wind screams Mary



Will the wind ever remember The names it has blown in the past

And with this crutch It's old age And it's wisdom

It whispers No This will be the last

And the wind cries Mary


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