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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