After all the jacks are in their boxes,
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And the clowns have all gone to bed,
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You can hear happiness staggering on down the street,
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Footprints dress in red.
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And the wind whispers Mary.
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A broom is drearily sweeping
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Up the broken pieces of yesterday's life.
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Somewhere a Queen is weeping,
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Somewhere a King has no wife.
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And the wind cries Mary.
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The traffic lights turn blue tomorrow
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Shine their emptiness down on my bed
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The tiny island sags downstream
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'Cos the life that they lived is dead.
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And the wind screams Mary.
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Oh oh yeah
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Will the wind ever remember
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The names it has blown in the past
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With this crutch, its old age and its wisdom
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It whispers, "No, this will be the last."
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And the wind cries Mary.
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Wind Cries Mary
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Jamie Cullum |