After all 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 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 a blue tomorrow

And shine their emptiness down on my bed

The tiny island sags downstream

'Cause the life that they lived is dead

And the wind screams Mary

Will the wind ever remember?

The names it has blown in the past

And with its crutch, its old age and its wisdom

It whispers "no, this will be the last"

And the wind cries Mary