The Wind Cries Mary ( Hendrix )

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

can hear happiness staggering on down the street. Footprints dressed in red and

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

and the wind it cries Mary the traffic lights they turn blue tomorrow and shine

the emptiness down on my bed the tiny island sags on down the stream cuz the

life that they lived is dead. And the wind screams Mary. 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."