The Wind Cries Mary
Xavier Rudd · Live At The Grid [2005]
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, uh, blue tomorrow and shine their emptiness
down on my bed The tiny island sags down stream 'cause
the life that lived is, is dead And the wind screams
Mary Uh-will the wind ever remember the names it has
blow 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
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, uh, blue tomorrow and shine their emptiness
down on my bed The tiny island sags down stream 'cause
the life that lived is, is dead And the wind screams
Mary Uh-will the wind ever remember the names it has
blow 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