The Wind Cries Mary sing and play along

After all the jacks are in their boxes and the clowns have all gone to bed,

you can hear happiness staggerin' on down the street,

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 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 downstream

'cause the life that lived is,

is dead.

And the wind

screams Mary.

Uh, will the wind ever remember

the names it has blown 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.