The Wind Cries Mary - Robyn Hitchcock

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 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 of blue tomorrow

And shine their emptiness down on my bed

The tiny island sails downstream

Cause the life that lived is Is dead

And the wind screams Mary

Will the wind ever remember

The names it has blown in the past

And with this crutch

It’s old age And it’s wisdom

It whispers No This will be the last

And the wind cries Mary