Lyrics

After all the jacks are in their boxes And the clowns have all gone to bed You can hear happiness slide 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 king is weeping Somewhere a queen has no wife And the wind moans Mary The traffic lights, they'll shine a blue tomorrow And shine an emptiness down on my bed The tiny island sags on downstream 'Cause the life that was there is dead And the wind screams Mary Will the wind ever remember The names it has blown in the past With its crutch, its old age, and its wisdom It whispers, "No, this will be the last." And the wind cries Mary