And after all the Jacks are in their boxes
And the clowns have all gone to bed
You can hear the happiness staggering on downstream
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
Yeah, and somewhere a King has no wife
And the wind cries Mary
Mary
The traffic lights they turn blue tomorrow
And shine their emptiness down on my bed
Their tiny island sags on downstream
’cause the life that lived is dead
And the wind screams Mary
Now will that wind ever remember
All those names it has blown in the past
Now with its crutch, its old age and its wisdom
It whispers “No this will be the last”
And the wind screams Mary
Mary
Mary