And the wind whispers, "Mary."

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, uh, blue tomorrow

And shine their emptiness down on my bed

The tiny island sags downstream

"Cause the life that lived is—is dead

And the wind screams, "Mary!"