After All the jacks are down in their boxes
and the clowns have a ll been put to bed
You can hear happiness as it goes downstream
Footprints dressed in red
And the "Wind Cries Mary"
A Broom is drearily sweeping
Up the broken pieces of yesterdays life
somewhere a queen lies weeping
somewhere a king has no wife
and the wind cries mary

the traffic lights they turn blue tomorrow
and shine their emptiness upon my bed
They tiny island sags down stream
casue the life that lived is dead
and the wind screams mary

Will the wind every remember
the names it has blown 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