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,
its old age, and its wisdom it whispers no, this will be the last and the wind 
cries Mary
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,
its old age, and its wisdom it whispers no, this will be the last and the wind 
cries Mary
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