The Wind Cries Mary

After all the jacks are up 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 the wind whispers merry. A broom is dribbling sweeping up the broken

pieces of yesterday's life. Somewhere a queen is weeping. Somewhere a king has

Has no wife

And the wind cries Mary

The traffic lights, they turn on blue tomorrow

They shine the emptiness down on my bed

Tiny island sags downstream

'Cause the light that lived is dead

And the wind screams Mary

Will the wind ever remember

The names it has blown in the past

And with its crutch its old age and wisdom

Whispers, "No, this will be the last in the way in Christ Mary."