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

Footprints 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 cries: Mary



The traffic lights will turn of blue tomorrow

And shine their emptiness down in my bed

The tiny island sails downstream cause the life that lived 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



Mary, yeah...



And the wind cries...