After all the jacks are in their boxes And the clowns have all gone to bed You can hear happiness standin' on down the street Footprints dressed in red
And the wind whispers Mary
A broom is drearily sweeping Up the broken peices of yesterday's 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 the emptiness down on my bed The tiny island sends downstream Because the light that there was is dead
And the wind screams Mary
Will the wind ever remember The names it has blown in the past? And with it's crush,it's old age,it's it's wisdom It whispers no,this will be the last