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
Footsteps dressed in red
A broom is drearily sweeping
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 blue tomorrow
And shine their emptiness down on my bed
Their tiny island sags on downstream
'Cause the life that lived is dead
And the wind cries Mary
And the wind cries Mary
Will the wind ever remember
The names it has blow in the past?
With this crutch, its old age, and its wisdom
It whispers no, this won't be the last
And the wind cries Mary
*
I love John Mayer's version. (Sally you have my CD, you hoe)
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