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

Somewhere a king has no wife

And the wind cries 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

Mary

Mary

And the wind screams mary