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 weepin',
|
Somewhere a King has no wife.
|
And the wind cries Mary.
|
Mary.
|
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
|
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.
|
Now will that wind ever remember,
|
All those names it has blown in the past.
|
Now with its crutch, its old age and its wisdom,
|
It whispers "No, this will be the last".
|
And the wind screams Mary.
|
Mary.
|
Mary.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Wind Cries Mary
|
| Seal |
