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Wind Cries Mary

After all the jacks are in the boxes 
And the clowns have all gone to bed
You can hear happiness staggering on down the street
Fooprints dressed in red
And the wind whispers Mary

A broom is dreaily sweeping 
Up the broken pieces of yesterday's life
Somewhere a queen is weeping
Somewhere a king has no wife
And the wind it cries Mary

The traffic lights
Turn blue tomorrow
And shine their emptiness down on my bed
The tiny island stays downstream
Cause the life that lived is
Is dead

Will the wind ever rememeber 
The names it has flown in the past
And with this crutch
It's old age
And it's wisdom
It whispers
No this will be the last
And the wind cries Mary