The
Wind Cries Mary
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
Footsteps
dressed in red
And the
wind whispers Mary
A broom is
drearily sweeping
Up the broken
pieces of yesterdays life
Somewhere
a queen is weeping
Somewhere
a king has no wife
And the
wind it cries Mary
The traffic-lights,
they turn blue tomorrow
And shine
their emptiness down on my bed
The tiny
island sags 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, its old age, and its wisdom
It whispers
no, this will be the last
And the
wind cries Mary
