The Wind Cries Mary

<br>After all the jacks are in their boxes <br>And the clowns have all gone to bed <br>You can hear happiness staggering on down the street <br>Footsteps dressed in red <br>And the wind whispers Mary <br><br>A broom is drearily sweeping <br>Up the broken pieces of yesterdays life <br>Somewhere a queen is weeping <br>Somewhere a king has no wife <br>And the wind it cries Mary <br><br>The traffic-lights, they turn blue tomorrow <br>And shine their emptiness down on my bed <br>The tiny island sags downstream <br>`Cause the life that lived is, is dead <br>And the wind screams Mary <br><br>Will the wind ever remember <br>The names it has blown in the past? <br>And with this crutch, its old age, and its wisdom <br>It whispers no, this will be the last <br>And the wind cries mary