After all the Jacks are in there 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 drearly sweeping   of 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 a turn blue tomorrow   and shine the emptiness down on my bed   the tiny island sags down the street   cause the life that lives is dead   and the wind screams Mary.            Will the wind every remember   the names it has blown in the past   and with this crush its old age and its wisdom   it whisper no this will be the last   and the wind cries Mary.