I like it    I don't like it

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 wispers mary

A broom is drearily sweeping

up the broken pieces of yesterdays life

Somewhere a queen is weeping

Somewhere a king has no wife

And the wind wispers Mary


The traffic lights turn blue tomorrow

and shine their emptiness down, down on my bed

The tiny island sags downstream

'cause the life that lived is, is dead

And the wind screams Mary

And the wind cries Mary


Will the wind ever remember

the names it has blown in the past

with its crutch, its old age, and its wisdom

it whispers "no, this won't be the last"

And the wind cries Mary

And the wind cries Mary