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
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of the broken pieces of yesterdays life
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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
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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.
|
|
|
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Will the wind every remember
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the names it has blown in the past
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and with this crush its old age and its wisdom
|
it whisper no this will be the last
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and the wind cries Mary.
|
|
-----------------
|
Mary
|
| Jimi Hendrix |
