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   Footsteps dressed in red   And the wind whispers Mary      A broom is drearily sweeping   Up the broken pieces of yesterdays life   Somewhere a queen is weeping   Somewhere a king has no wife   And the wind, it cries Mary      The traffic lights, they turn, uh, blue tomorrow   And shine their emptiness down on my bed   The tiny island sags down stream   ?Cause the life that lived is, is dead   And the wind screams Mary      Uh, will the wind ever remember   The names it has blow 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