After all the 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
blue tomorrow
And shine
their emptiness
down on my bed
The tiny island
sags downstream
'Cos 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
